
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.' 

chap, .IIL^-llT" 

Shelf —jA.%t-LLjo 

1*5 7 

i UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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Uniform with "Under Green Leaves."' 
Price 35. 6d. 

THE LUMP OF GOLD, 

gnu ctkr pons, 

Br CHABLES MACKAY, 

AUTHOR OF "UNDER GREEN LEAVES," "EGERIA," 

•'THE SALAMANDRINE " "SONGS FOR MUSIC," ETC.. ETC.. ETC. 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 



The whole tendency of these poems is exalted : and it gives us unmixed 
satisfaction to find a poet who aspires to write for the people, setting 
before him, as the guiding star of his powers, the pursuit of the noble and 
the good. Both in point of poetical merit and principle, we look upon 
this volume as a cheering 1 sign of the times. — Guardian. 

It is long since we have seen a volume of verses, full of such genuine 
thoughts, expressed in such terse English,— so utterly devoid of affecta- 
tion. — Daily News. 

In the present volume of Mr. Charles Mackay, we recognize the work- 
manship of a master, who is deep without being turbid — and musical, but 
not monotonous. His works are pervaded by a mild and chastened 
wisdom, expressing itself, not with painful elaboration, but with sponta- 
neous ease. — Saturday Review. 

It is a pleasure to read the pure musical English of the "Lump of 
Gold,' 5 and a still greater pleasure to mark the wholesome, chaste, "and 
natural stream both of thought and. feeling, which makes the book not only 

delightful, but safe as a household book,— qualities, unhappily, by no 
means common in the poetiy of the day. — Literary Gazette. 

In the sacred precincts of Charles Mackay's studio the Muse has 
slumbered long, too long for our eager wishes, too long for beauty : s 
sake, too long for the necessities of literature. Awakened at last." it 
springs into living action with its accustomed pliancy ; it speaks the same 
fervid. melodies: it points the same instructive philosophy, which instructs 
all the mere surely because it appeals simply and directly to the heart. 
AMhle Charles Mackay lives, there is a solitary chance— nay, a certainty] 
that poetiy cannot be wholly degraded into metrical legerdemain, or, worse 
than that,' into the most abject jargon. — Critic. 



LONDON : G. KOUTLEDGE & CO., FABPJNGDON ST, 

NEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET, 



RECENTLY PUBLISHED, 

BY THE AUTHOR OF 

"UNDER GREEN LEAVES." 
SONGS FOR MUSIC. 

Second Edition. Price One Shilling. 

Happy is the privilege of genius that can float in a song down "hungry- 
generations ; " and in so far as we may venture to prophesy, we believe 
that such privilege is the happy fortune of Charles Mackay. — Douglas 
JerroWs Weekly News. 

A fine manly tone pervades these songs. — Daily News. 



THE SALAMANDRINE. 

Fourth Edition. Price One Shilling. 

There is a wild and poetical originality in this production, which 
affords a favourable display of the author's imaginative and descriptive 
powers. — Literary Gazette. 

Nothing can be more graceful than the manner in which Mr. Mackay 
has versified this fanciful legend, or more apposite than the imagery with 
which he has surrounded it. — Sun. 

We are acquainted with no production of our time more richly imbued 
with the true poetic spirit, — more eminently distinguished by the sweet- 
ness of simplicity, — by the tenderest pathos, — by an exceeding delicacy 
and purity of thought, feeling, and expression. — Naval and Military 
Gazette. 

In the versification of this poem, Mr. Mackay has been extremely 
felicitous. It floods along like music, — now rising, now falling, — some- 
times subsiding into mournful tones, and sometimes breaking out into 
the most joyous exultation. There is more variety in it, also, than in 
anything he has hitherto produced, — a higher strain of fancy, — and 
infinitely greater facility of execution. The subject will insure it that 
popularity which its merits richly deserve. — Atlas. 



A 



BALLADS AND LYRICAL POEMS. 

Second Edition. Price One Shilling. 



We have a genuine pleasure in once more welcoming the appearance of 
this tried vindicator of ttie poet's dignity and mission. Charles Mackay is 
one whose works have always a purpose, — and that an elevated one. 
His is a name involuntarily associated with what is most cheering and 
hopeful in the aspects of human life and destiny, and it is one that the 
present generation will not willingly let die. His lyrics have heartiness 
and vigour about them which instinctively inspirit. Hence the firm hold 
which they have taken on the public mind. — Weekly News. 



GA 



fox dim ^tnks. 



BY 






CHAELES MACKAY, 

AUTHOR OF ''THE LUMP OF GOLD," "EGERIA/ 

ETC. ETC. 



I 



^ 



%\ 






LONDON: 

G. ROTJTLEDGE & CO. FAREINGDON STREET; 

NEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET. 

1857. 



<■■' 



t» 



?^> 









CONTENTS. 



ONE HALF-HOUR 


. . Page 1 


LULLING S WORTH 


IT 


THE WINES 


45 


TWO HOUSES 


49 


THE BRIONY WREATH 


50 


THE INTERVIEW 


56 


THE LOVER'S DREAM OF THE WIND 


62 


DOWN UPON THE GREEN EARTH 


64 


THE STEPPING-STONES 


67 


THE MUSICIAN 


69 


KILRAVOCK TOWER 


77 


HORNYHAND 


80 


SHACKABACK 


85 


OBVERSE AND REVERSE 


88 


SUPPOSITIONS 


94 


THE COBBLER 


97 


TELL ME NO MORE 


104 


ENGLISH VIRTUES 


106 


GIDEON GREY 


110 


THE MOUNTAIN TORRENT 


113 


CASTLE ATHEL STONE 


117 


THE HAWTHORN AND THE IVY . . 


119 


THE VOLUNTARY 


121 


MEOPS 


125 



IV 



CONTENTS. 



BEAUTY AND LOVE 

LOVE J NEW AND OLD 

FAIREST AND DEAREST 

THE MOUNTAIN-TOP 

MIST 

CRACKLETHORN 

THE EGLANTINE . . 

THE MEN OF THE NORTH 

THE TREES 

THE SONG OF THALIESSIN 

ANGLING 

CARELESS 

JOAN OF ARC 

STORM APPROACHING 

THE RAPID STREAM 

THE SAILOR'S "WIFE 

EACH BLOCK OF MARBLE 

THE SILENT HILLS 

A WELCOME TO PEACE 

PEXDRAGON THE KING 

THE RETURN HOME 

TIME AND THE SPRING 

MANNA 

THE LAST QUARREL 

FLOWERS IN THE STREAM 

THE MOCK JEWELS 

GOOD-NIGHT 

HATE IN THE PULPIT 

"LOVE WILL FIND OUT 

THE GREAT CRITICS 

THE SHIP 

thor's hammer . . 



i&nixzx (Srteit 'Sfzbts. 



Under the greenwood tree, 

Who loves to lie with me, 
And time his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither ! — 

Shakspeake. 



Wivfotx <&xttn feasts. 



ONE HALF-HOUR 

i. 

Noon, from the village tower, — - 
But ere the clock strike One, 
Ay, ere one short half-hour, 

Deeds shall be done. 
A warm and buzzing day, 
Scented with new-mown hay, 
And tremulous with song 
Floating green woods among.— 
Lovely to me, who lie 
Under this happy sky, — 



UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Tell roe, oh, Spirit of Noon 
Haunting the turret-spire,- 

What shall he done 
Ere thou expire ? 



ii. 

Over the sunny grass 
A shadow delay'd to pass ; 
And with it came a sound 
From the tree-tops to the ground.- 
An echo's echo dying, 
Or thought to a thought replying, 
Or music of the mind 
Is ot born of the summer wind, 
That seem'd to give it breath. — 
And the song it made, 
In the greenwood shade, 
Was a song of Life and Death, — 



Death in the shadow glancing, 



ONE HALF-HOUU. 



Life in the sunshine dancing j 
Life and her sister Death. 



in. 

The glad air throbs with music. 

As suits a bridal day, 
And the chimes are merrily ringing 

- From a thousand turrets grey. 
Strew roses ! gather posies I 

Youth goes on his lusty way. 
The sad air sighs with music : 

Hark to the under-boom ! 
Over a thousand dells. 
Toll out the doleful bells ■ 

There's dust for the hungry tomb. 
And lonely ships at sea 
Have Death in their company. — 
Bury the mariners in the deep ! 

And let their white bones rest. 
b 2 



UNDER GSEEN LEAVES. 

Under tlie billows' breast, 
Where none can come to weep. 



IV. 

" Many an infant born, 
This pleasant summer mora, 

Shall die ere evening fall. 
And many a scheme that blows 
As freshly as the rose, 

Shall drop its leaflets all, 
And wither where it grows, 

Ere the next chime 

Shall tell the time. 
And many a desolate head, 

Weary of all the world has taught, 
Shall know the knowledge of the dead, 

And things surpassing thought. 



ONE HALF-HOUR. 



V. 

" Crooning at her door 

Sits the sailor's wife* 
Oh, sweet is her song and low, 
Like the ripple of streams that flow 
Where the long sedge-grasses grow, 
As she clasps her little child. 

That she loves beyond her life, 
To her heart so pure and mild, 
And thinks of the coming day, 
When he who is far away, 
Shall come again, 
Come again, 
Like the sweet, sweet sunshine after the rain. 

To guard and shield her as of yore, 

To love and cherish her more and more, 
Best joy in her world of pain. 



UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



VI. 



" And he whom she loves so well, 

More than her tongue can tell, 
Is battling with the wave, — 
The gaping, greedy, gluttonous wave, — ■ 

That sucks him down to the pitiless grave, 

Far away out on the barren sea, 
With none but the stars so cold, 
And the moonlight silvery gold, 
Looking down 
From Heaven's high crown, 

On his fierce death-a^onv. 



Vile 

" The son returns with hard-earn*d wealth, 
To cheer his mother, whose locks are white ; 

And his mother was laid, with the turf on her breast, 
In the churchyard yesternight. 



ONE HALF-HOUR. 7 

The husband comes to the wife he love-. 

And his little children dear ; 
And the wife hath fled to a stranger's bed. 

Nor left him even a tear 
To freshen his heart, that will shrivel with griel,— 

Sapless — fruitless — sere. 



VIII. 

Outside the castle-gate. 
The beggar-woman sighs, 

With her pale twins at her bosom, 

And a light in her glaring eves ; 
She thinks of the stately Duchess, 

So beautiful to see, 
On her prancing steed, in her hunting-gear 

With her pages at her knee ; 
With her plume of ostrich feathers 

That waves to the summer air ; — 



UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

So young, so noble, and so rich, 
So far from the reach of care. 

And the beggar curses Fortune, 
And thinks of her babes forlorn, 

And fondles them, and hugs them, 
And weeps that they were born. 



IX. 

ci Inside the castle-gate, 

The Duchess sits alone, 
Her long brown hair dishevell'd, 

And streaming to her zone : 
She thinks of the beggar-matron, - 

And sighs, — unhappy wife ! 
That not to her is given 

One child to bless her life. 
' I'd give,' quoth she, ' my jewels, 

My castle, my domains, 



ONE HALF-HOUR. 

My state, my rank, my title, 

And all that appertains, 
For one of the tender cherubs. 

That she, beloved of Heaven, 
Can fold to her fruitful bosom, 

And feel a blessing given. 
Oh. she is rich beyond me, 

'Tis I alone am poor, 
And starve in the midst of plenty ! — 

Oh, teach me to endure ! ' 

x. 
" A knave sits plotting and spinning 

His coils and meshes dark, 
Alone in his secret places, 

Where he deems no eye shall mark. 
He sows the seeds of evil 

In his fofflight, murk and dim. 
That they may grow in the autumn shine. 

Into ripe fresh fruit for him. 



10 UNDER GREEN LEAVES, 

Let him coil and spin 
His web of sin, 

Let Him plant and dig and sow ! 
Fate hath a besom that can sweep, 
And fools may sow what wise men reap. 
For the minutes ebb and flow, 
Balancing as they go ; 
And every minute as it flies, 
If it see a thousand knaves arise, 

Beholds a thousand fall, — 
The question solves, 
The globe revolves, — 

And God is over all ! 

XI. 

" Great Csesar sits alone, 

Weary and full of care : 
How shall his armies strive, 
How shall his people thrive 

In the battles that prepare, 



ONE HALF-HOUR- II 

Whose murmur comes from a distant land 

To the under-tides of the air ! 
And shall he fall or stand, 

And are his servants true ? 
And are his enemies too strong 

For his right hand to subdue ? 
Weary and rack'd with thought, 

He shuts himself alone. 
And cloth not know that his foe lie? dead. 

That his rival's power is nought. 
That another is on his throne ; 

And that the high imperial head 
That troubled the world shall throb no more ; 

But lies as pulseless as a stone 
On the melancholy shore. 



" He knoweth not of this ; 

He summons his armed men. 



12 UNDER GEEEN LEAVES. 

He passes the squadrons in review, 
With their captains, ten times ten ; 
He sends them east and west 

By the fiat of his word ; 
He grinds and taxes his docile realm, 

Till its inmost heart is stirr d, 
And the props of his throne are shaken !- 

Oh, vain — oh, worse than vain ! 
The heavens are black with tempest, 

And he dreameth not of rain. 
He looks far off for danger, 

And arms lest it should burst, 
"While it slumbers at his footstool, 

And in his hand is nursed. 

XIIL 

" A man with a brow care-furrovv'd 
And bright eyes gleaming proud, 
Walks to and fro in his chamber, 
And talks to himself aloud. 



ONE HALF-HOUR. 13 

1 I have play'd,' quoth he, ' and won, — 
The deed of my life is done ; 
The hope of my youth and prime 
Is ripe at its destined time : 
I clutch the golden apple, 

I hold my head on high ; — - 
I thank thee, oh my Fortune, 

And let the world go by ; 
For grief no more shall touch me ! ? 

Oh fool ! there's clanger nigh ! 
Whatever grief thou'st borne, 
Whatever pangs have torn 
Thy desolate heart forlorn, 

Are nothing to compare 
With the brood of grief that nestle 

At the core of thine apple fair. 
They breed in thy happy fortune 

Thy dearest hopes to cross ; 
Poor dupe ! thy good is evil, 

Thy victory is loss. 



14 UNDER GSH3SN LEAVES. 



XIV. 

" A young man sits lamenting 

With his children at his knee, 
And his fond true wife beside him : 
' I'm a wretch ! ' quoth he ; 
' An evil fate pursues me ; 

Whate'er I touch I slay ; 
And this, my last reliance — 

My chance, my hope, my stay — 
Has died like the last year's blossoms, 

Never to bloom again ! ' 
Oh blind, to grieve at Fortune ! 

Oh sluggard, to complain ! 
The thing which thou hast lost 

Was big with coming sorrow ; 
Joy dwelt on its lips to-day, 

Grief grew in its heart for morrow. 



ONE HALF- noun. 15 

Look up to Heaven, tliou dreamer ! 

If smitten, thou art whole ; 
And learn that a pang surmounted. 

Is healing to the soul." 



XV. 

Half-past twelve on the turret clock, 

Thou'rt gone, oh Spirit of l^oon ! 
"With the last faint echoes of the chime, 

That died in the woods of June. 
Thou'rt gone, in thy robe of amber, 

And diadem of flame, 
To make the wide world's circuit— 

Another, and yet the same ; 
To bear God's justice with thee, 

And scatter it through the Earth ; 
To balance the wonder of our death 

By the mystery of our birth ; 



16 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

To humble the exalted. 

To turn the Wrong to Right, 
And out of the gloom of Evil 

To weave the web of Light. 
Kind and beautiful Spirit, 

Just and merciful Day, 
Bearing thy God's commission, 

To give and to take away ! 



Marcli, 1855. 



LULLINGSWORTH. 1 7 



LXJLLINGSWORTH. 

It is an ancient house : 
Four hundred years ago 
Men dug its basements deep, 
And roof'd it from the wind ; 
And held within its walls 
The joyous marriage-feast, 
The christening and the dance. 
Four hundred years ago 
They scoop'd and fill'd the moat, 
"Where now the rank weeds grow, 
And waterlilies vie 
In whiteness with the swans^ — 
A solitary pair — 
That float, and feed, and float, 
Beneath the crumbling bridge 
And past the garden-wall, 
c 



18 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Four hundred years ago 
They planted trees around 
To shield it from the sun ; 
And still these oaks and elms, 
The patriarchs of the wold, 
Extend their sturdy boughs 
To woo the summer breeze. 
The old house, ivy grown, 
Red, green, and mossy gray, 
Still lifts its gables quaint \ 
And in the evening sun 
Its windows, as of yore, 
Still gleam with ruddy light 
Reflected from the west. 

Still underneath the eaves, 
Or rafters of the porch, 
The glancing swallow builds ; 
Still through its chimneys tall 
Up streams the curling smoke 



LULLIXGSWOETH. 1 9 

From solitary fires, — 
For still the ancient race 
Live in the ancient home. 
But of their glory shorn, 
And hastening to decay. 



Their last descendant dwells, 
Childless and very old, 
Amid its silent halls : 
He loves the lonely place, 
Its furniture antique, 
Its panels of rich oak 
"Worni-eaten and grotesque, 
Its manuscripts and books, 
Its pictures on the walls, 
And carvings on the stair. 
5 Tis all he hath to love ; 
Its life hath pass'd away — 
The beautiful human lite — 
c 2 



20 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

And left him frail and sad, 
A waif on Time's bleak shore. 

No children in its courts 
Carol, like happy birds, 
The livelong summer day. 
No maidens with blue eyes 
Dream of the trysting-hour, 
Or bridal's happier time. 
No youths with glowing hearts 
Muse, in its shady walks, 
Of high heroic deeds, 
Or glory to be sought 
In perilous fields of fame. 
The very dog is mute, 
And slumbers on the hearth, 
Too impotent to bark. 
The cawing rooks alone 
Maintain the song of life, 
And prate amid the elms 



LULLINGSWORTII. 21 

With harsh rough colloquy — 

A music in itself, 
Or if not music, joy. 

The Lord of Lullingsworth 

Is lonely, not austere : 
A melancholy man, 
With long locks flowing white, 
And hack unbent by age, 
Beloved, yet little known. 
He seeks not intercourse — 
But takes it if it comes — 
Except with little babes, 
Who gather round his path 
Or cling about his knees — 
And love, yet know not why, 
The melancholy man. 
These, and the village priest, 
His almoner and friend, 
Are all his confidants. 



22 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

A generous hand lie hath, 
And giveth liberal dole — 
How liberal no one knows. 
A something for the school 
Or for the village church ; 
A something for old friends 
"Who fall to penury ; 
Or ancient servitors, 
Too feeble for their work ; 
A something for the State, 
When Patriotism calls, 
Or high Philanthropy ; 
A something for the needs 
Of sickness and distress, 
Of helpless orphan babes 
And widows left forlorn ; 
A something for himself, 
Perchance the least of all ; — 
So flows the stream of wealthy 
That once more affluent 



LULLTNGSWORTH. 23 

Pi an in impetuous flood 
And spent itself in pomp ; 
But now, a quiet brook, 
Trickles through by-ways green 
And edges them with flowers. 

The house hath many tales : — 
Four hundred years of men, 
Of human birth and death, 
Of love, and faith, and hope, 
Of glory and of shame, 
And all that mortals feel, 
Might yield large histories, 
If there were tongues to tell. 
But no one knows their scope. 
The incidents are blurred, 
Or else forgotten quite ; 
Gone with the song of birds, 
Or with the leaves that fell 
In ancient centuries. 



24 UNDER GKEEN LEAVES. 

A few perchance survive 
In mouldy chronicles, 
Or hang upon the lips 
Of parish pensioners. 
But if you'd hear one tale, 
Amid the multitude, 
And gather on the shore 
One little grain of sand, — 
That grain a human life, — 
Listen, and you shall hear 
This old man's history. 

'Twas forty years ago, 
The Lord of Lullingsworth 
Led home his happy wife, 
The joy of all who saw, 
The glory of his heart. 
'Twas twenty years ago, 
A pale and patient saint, 
Still young and fair, she died, 



LULLIXGSWORTII. 25 

And left hiin in the world, 
A maze without a clue, 
A tree without a root ; 
Yet not all desolate, 
'Nor utterly forlorn. 

Four daughters and three sons. 
The eldest sweet eighteen^ 
The youngest but a day, 
Remain d around his hearth 
To cheer his downward path. 
And much he loved them all; — 
Much for their own dear sakes, 
Much for their mother's, lost, 
And much for love return'd. 

He thought as he caress'd 
Each infant in his arms, 
And listen'd with delight 
To every lisping word, 



26 UNDER GHEEN LEAVES. 

Sweeter than word full spoke, 
And heard the sharp clear laugh 
Of Innocence and Joy- 
King merry through the hall, 
That Time had not the power 
Or Circumstance the art 
To make him cherish more 
These links from Earth to Heaven, - 
The children of the dead. 

But each returning day 
Beheld his love increase, 
Until he sometimes fear'd 
Such fond idolatry 
Of creatures of the earth 
Was blasphemy to Heaven. 
But Love transcends the mind ; 
And Reason, if it strive 
Against Love's high decree, 
Strives but with spears of straw, 



LULLINGSWORTH. 27 

Against stone battlements ; 
Or if it fly the strife, 
It abdicates its throne, 
And serves as minister 
The king it might depose. 

As each ingenuous heart 
Expanded in his smile, 
And each young intellect 
Unfolded like a flower 
Beneath the kindly beams 
Of his paternal face, 
He look'd around his hearth ; — 
And though one vacant place 
Threw o'er his happiness 
The shade of bygone grief, 
He counted all his flock, 
And said within himself,— 
" The world is good and fair, 
And I am happy yet ; 



28 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Lord ! who hath given me these, 
Preserve them one and all, 
That I may train them up 
To glorify Thy name, 
And meet me, glorified, 
At the appointed time, 
Before Thy Throne of Grace." 

So grew they in his sight, 
His task, his hope, his joy, 
His recompense of life ; 
Till one unhappy morn 
Insidious Fever crept, 
A serpent, to Iris fold ; 
And not content with one, 
Snatched from his jealous arms 
Three younglings of his flock, — 
The sweetest, — best-beloved, — 
The tendrils of his heart. 
Not best-beloved in life, 



LULLIXGSWORTII. 20 

But oh, far more than best, 
When Death transfigured them, 
And o'er the pallid clay 
Threw his celestial robes. 
None saw the father weep. 
His face was always calm, 
Serene, and sad as night, 
Begemm'd with inner worlds 
Of silent suffering. 

Years passed ; and from his lips 
There issued no complaint. 
Four treasures still remain' d, 
Brought nearer to his heart 
By thought of those in Heaven. 
If to the little world 
That watch'd his daily life, 
And knew how good and brave 
And generous he was, 
There seem'd to be a change 



30 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

In look, or word, or deed, 
It was that in his eyes 
Seem'd pity more benign ; 
In every word he spake 
More genial sympathy, 
And in his liberal hand 
Beneficence more rich. 

He had but tasted grief; — 
The overbrimming cup 
"Was offered to his lips, 
And he had drunk, and lived. 
The cup was yet to drain ; 
And happy he the while, 
That knew not, nor could dream 
The misery of the draught. 

Shorb were the history, 
If told by fact, and date, 
And sequence of event. 



LULLIXGSWOETII. 31 

Long were the history, 

If told bv agonies 

Endured from day to day 

And bravely fought against, 

Until the unequal strife 

Made havoc in the halls 

And garden of the soul ; 

Laid waste the pleasant paths, 

And rooted up the flowers, — 

Sweet flowers, — to bloom no more ! 

But long or short, — 'tis sad, 

As all life-histories are, 

Could tongues interpret them, 

Prop of his house, his son, 
By high ambition fired, 
Intolerant of ease, 
Went forth in honours ranks 
To fight his country's foes. 
He died the hero's death, 



32 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Waving a snow-white plume 
To cheer his followers, 
And planting on the breach, 
Won by his bravery, 
The flag without a peer ; 
His last words — " Victory ! 
My father ! Bear him this ;„ — 
(A locket of dark hair) 
" And tell him how I died ! " 

Two other sons — fair boys — 
As radiant as the morn, 
And fresh as blooms of May, 
Return'd from Eton's halls, 
Greedy of holidays, 
And joys of happy home. 
They bathed themselves at noon, 
In clear inviting stream. 
They frolick'd on the shore, 
They braved remoter depths, 



LULLING SWORTH. 33 

They gamboll'd in the flood, 

And turning on their backs, 

Floated, with face to Heaven, 

In easy luxury, 

As white and pure as swans ; 

Then dived in daring sport, 

And wantonness of strength, 

For pebbles deep adown, 

Which having gain'd, they threw 

Up in the sunny air, 

And caught them as they fell. 

There was not in the world, 

In all its wealth of life 

And innocence and joy, 

Two happier, brighter things, 

More beautiful than they. 

A sudden cry of pain 
Bang through the mead a mile, 
And startled at the sound, 

D 



34 UNDER GREEN LEAVES, 

The younger brother turn'd, 
And saw his elder born 
Battling the deeps for life, 
And all his fair young face 
Alight with agony. 

Impulsive at a thought, 
He swam, and grasp'd the hand 
Outstretch'd in blind despair. 
'Twas Death's convulsive throe ! 
The dying swimmer caught 
That weak fraternal hand, 
That fond fraternal neck, 
And bore into the grave 
The young and tender life, 
For whose superior sake 
He'd thrice have given his own. 

'Twas a short agony 
That took them both to heaven. 



LULLING S WORTH. 35 

Go to the village church. 
You'll see their cenotaph, 
A master-piece of art ; 
Lock'd in each other's arms 
The marble seraphs lie ; 
Lovely in form and face, 
But not so beautiful. 
Or so divinely fair, 
In"o, not by absent soul — - 
As those whose purity 
They strive to shadow forth. 



All thought this bitter grief 
Would break the father's heart. 
Perchance it did — none knew. 
He travell'd into France, 
To Italy and Spain, 
He and his eldest born, 
His loveliest and his last. 
j> 2 



36 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Oh, sweet beyond compare, 
In roseate bloom of youth, 
And dazzling womanhood, 
She glitter'd at his side ; 
Men saw her in a crowd 
And knew no other face ; 
And when she glided out 
From church or festival, 
They knew not how it was, 
But felt that it was dark. 

Before her brothers died 
The maiden was betroth'd 
To one her sire approved, 
And would have chos'n himself 
As helpmate of her life, 
If she, with finer sense, 
Had not from all mankind 
Singled him out — true soul- 
Her own soul's counterpart. 



LULLINGSWOKTH. 3 7 

Time pass'd, and she was wed ; — 
And happiness once more 
Seem'd dawning o'er the Hall, 
To light its avenues 
With human intercourse, 
And cheer the sad old man. 
Age dreams as well as youth ; 
He hoped, he dream' d, he pray'd ; 
That this beloved tree 
Would blossom at its time, 
And bear its tender fruit — - 
The blooms of wedded life — 
Through all his latest years, 
To make him blest amends 
For dearer treasures lost. 

Fond hope, that never grew 
To hope's fruition fair ! 
The Hose so full of sweets, 
The Rose so fondly prized, 



38 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

So beautiful and frail, 

Bore one untimely bud, 

And perish' d where she grew, 

Leaving two hearts forlorn, — 

One young, with strength, mayhap, 

To live and love anew ; 

One sad and weary old, 

Too old to hope again. 

How merciful is Heaven : 
The oak foredoom'd to brave 
Five hundred years of storm, 
Grows hard and rough of kind, 
And finds in storm itself 
A sustenance and power. 
The blind man's universe, 
TTneheer'd by light? of Heaven, 
By man's or Nature's face, 
Throbs with ecstatic sound 
And music of the spheres. 



LULLIXGSWORTH. 39 

And in our daily life, 
The arrows aim'd to kill, 
The accidents, the pit, 
The perilous fire or flood, 
Receive not every day 
The victims they demand. 
The arrow, warp'd aside. 
Avoids Achilles' heel, 
And guardian angels fly 
On wings of sudden thought, 
Or come, life messengers 
In God's electric car, 
Whose wheels are impulses, 
To lead us unperceived 
Beyond the crowded path 
"Where ambusli'd dangers lie ; 
To heal th'en venom' d wound, 
Or shield us from the blow. 

The kind and tender heart 



40 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Broke not, but bore its grief; 
And Patience, like a crown, 
Shone on his wrinkled front, 
And mark'd him for a king. 
But if the heart escaped, 
The delicate brain gave way. 
An atom was displaced 
From Reason's perfect throne; 
Th'intangible chord was snapp'd 
Which binds the soul to sense; 
The clear aerial bells 
That make sweet harmonies 
In Thought's imperial dome, 
Were smitten out of tune, 
And yielded back no more 
Their beautiful accord. 

The balance of his mind 
In all his common life, 
In converse with the world, 



LULLIXCSWORTH. 41 

In duty's ceaseless round, 
In home or state affairs, 
In courtesies complete, 
Or high philosophy, 
Preserved its evenness. 
On one dark point alone 
The balance was destroy'd. 
On one pervading thought 
The bells were out of tune — 
If out of tune they were — 
And not by spirit hands 
Attuned, ineffable, 
To higher harmonies 
Than pure cold Eeason dreams. 

The children were not dead, 
Nor she, the saint who bore ! 
The losing of the last, 
Restored them all to life, 
Young, beautiful, beloved, 



42 UXDER GREEN LEAVES. 

As in the bygone time 
When in his path they grew, 
Companions of his hours. 

All other creatures die ; 
The green earth covers them ; 
But in his waking thought 
These live immortally, 
And know not Death's embrace, 
Nor cold Corruption's lip. 
He sees them in his walks ; 
His wife still comforts him ; 
His little children still 
Gambol about his feet, 
And prattle in his ear. 

Each day at morn and noon, 
And at his evening meal, 
His board is spread for nine ; 
His inner eyes behold 



LULLINGSWORTH. 43 

Eight spirits at his side, — 
Each in the usual place. 
Visible — palpable. 
In their high company, 
A calm pure happiness 
Dwells in his soul serene, 
And feeds itself on thoughts 
Too great for utterance. 
Life blossoms out of death ; 
Nothing shall part them more ! 

Thus God's great balances 
Right every seeming wrong, 
Atone for every ill, 
And in the poison d cup 
Infuse the precious balm, 
That out of transient pain 
Makes lasting happiness. 
Who knows this old man's joy ? 
None but himself, perhaps— 



44 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Perhaps not even he. 
Thou who hast heard the tale 
Believe that Heaven is just, 
And bear thy lot resigned. 



--^- s ^?^0^^^-^ — 



THE WINES. 45 



THE WINES. 



Whence comest thou, 

Oh lady rare, 
With soft blue eyes 

And flaxen hair, 
And showers of ringlets 

Clustering fair I 
And what hast thou got 

In that bowl of thine ] 
" I come," quoth she, 

" From the beautiful Ehine, 
And in my bowl 

Is the amber wine. 
Pure as gold 

Without alloy, 



48 UNDEH GREEN LEAVES. 

Mild as moonlight, 

Strong as joy ; 
Taste, and treasure it — 
Drink, but measure it — 
Thirsty boy ! " 



XI. 

And who art thou, 

So ruddy and bright, 
With round full eyes 

Of passionate light, 
And clustering tresses 

Dark as night ? 
And what hast thou drawn 

From the teeming tun ? 
" I come," quoth she, 

" From the blue Garonne, 
Where the vines are kiss'd 

By the bountiful sun, 



THE WINES. 47 

And the regal Claret, 

Kind, though coy, 
Flushes the hills 

With purple joy. 
Taste, and treasure it — - 
Drink, but measure it — 

Thirsty boy ! " 

in. 

And whence art thou, 

With bounding tread, 
With cheeks like morning, 

Rosy red, 
And eyes like meteors 

In thy head ? 
And what dost thou pour 

Like je well'd rain 1 
" I come," quoth she, 

" From the sunny plain, 



48 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

And bear a flagon 

Of bright Champagne,- 
Age's cordial, 

Beauty's toy, — 
Dancing, glancing, 

"Wine of Joy. 
Taste, and treasure it — 
Drink, but measure it — 

Thirsty boy ! " 



— ~— -^Tg^S^fe^ 



TWO HOUSES. 49 



TWO HOUSES. 

" 'Twill overtask a thousand men, 
With all their strength and skill, 

To build my Lord ere New Year's eve 
His castle on the hill." 

" Then take two thousand," said my Lord, 
" And labour with a will." 



They wrought, these glad two thousand men, 

But long ere winter gloom, 
My Lord had found a smaller house, 

And dwelt in one dark room ; 
And one man built it in one day, 

While bells rang ding, dong, boom ! 
Shut up the door ! shut up the door ! 

Shut up the door till Doom ! 



50 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



THE BRIONT WREATH. 

i. 
I twined around my true love's brow, 

Amid her dark brown hair, 
A wreath of Briony from the hedge, 

"With rings and berries fair ; 
And call'd her " Lady Briony," 

And darling of the air. 

II. 

We walk'd like children, hand in hand, 

Or on the meadow-stile 
Sat down, not seeking happiness, 

But finding it the while 
In Love's unconscious atmosphere, 

Or sunlight of a smile. 



THE BRIONY WREATH. 51 

III. 

" Sweet Lady of my heart/' I said, 
" Thou chid'st me in the morn, 

For talking of the i worthless weeds' 
"With unconsidered scorn ; 

But now, for bonnie Briony's sake. 
The chiding shall be borne. 

IV. 

" So pleasant are its tendril-rings. 

That twist and curl and twine ; 
So graceful are its leaves and fruit 

Amid those locks of thine ; 
Henceforth to me shall Briony 

Be equal of the Yine." 

v. 

" But not for sake of me !" she said ; 
" I'd have thee just and true, 
e 2 



52 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

And love the wild weeds for themselves, 
Sweet babes of sun and dew, 

As virtuous as the Hose herself, 
Or Yiolet blushing blue. 

VI. 

" Of all the weeds, and bounteous buds, 
That drink the summer shower, 

And lift their blossoms through the corn, 
Or smile in hedge and bower, 

I plead the cause ; — come hear the tale 
And love them from this hour. 

VII. 

" You've call'd me Lady Briony ; 

Behold my sisters bright, 
My fair companions of the wood, 

Who love the morning light, — 
Valerian, Saffron, Camomile, 

And Rue, and Aconite ; — 



THE BRIONT WREATH. 

VI I L 

" The golden Mallow of the Marsh, 

The Hemlock, broad and rank, 
The Xightshade, Foxglove, Meadow-sweet, 

And Tansy on the bank, 
And Poppy with her sleepful eyes, 

And Water-Iris dank, 

IX 

u Are we not fair 1 Despise us not !— 
We soothe the couch of pain ; 

We bring divine forgetfulness 
To calm the stormy brain • 

And through the languid pulse of life 
Drop healing,, like the rain. 

2. 

" There's not a weed, however small, 
That peeps where rivers flow. 



0-1 UNDER GREEN LEAVES 

Or in the bosom of the woods 

Has privilege to grow, 
But has some goodness in its breast, 

Or bounty to bestow, 

XI. 

" And if we poison ; — yours the fault ! 

Behold our green leaves wave, 
And seem to sigh as men go past 

Wayfarers to the grave ; — 
' Use us unwisely, we may kill, — 

Use wisely, and we save/ 

XII. 

u Our virtues and our loveliness 
Are none the less our own, 

Because you fail to seek them out, 
Or miss them when they're shown ; 

And if we're common, so is light, 
And every blessing known.'* 



THE BRIONY WREATH. 55 

XIII. 

" Well pleaded, Lady Briony ! 

Thou'rt good as tliou art fair ; 
And were there no one in the copse, 

I'd kiss thy lips, I swear!" 
Her laugh rang merry as a bell — 

" Well, kiss me, if you dare 1" 



c-^<3^i^j^L^ 



56 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



THE INTERVIEW. 



Heavily the rain-drops 

Beat the pane ; 
On the housetop hoarsely 

Creak'd the vane ; 
The wind came battering by, 
Like fierce artillery 

Against a town ; 
Or with a fitful wail 
Crept through the leafless vale 

Or moorland brown. 



THE INTERVIEW. 
II. 

In that wintry midnight^ 

Through the gloom, 
I beheld a vision 

In my room ; 
I shudder'd at the sight, — 
Its face in ghastly light 

Familiar shone ; 
And all its heart lay bare 
As a landscape in the air,— 

Mine own ! mine own ! 

in. 

'Twas my face before me, 

Pallid-hued ; 
'Twas mine eyes beheld me 

"Where I stood. 
Pointing its fingers thin, 
This thing, with hideous grin, 

And angry start, 



58 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Exclaim' d, " Thou knowest much ;- 
Knowest thou this, — I touch]"— 
And touch'd its heart. 

IV. 

With a flash electric, 

It became 
Palpable before me 

Like a flame ; 
And I could read and see 
Its inmost mystery, 

And breach of law ; 
Its guilty passion strong, 
Its weakness hidden long, 

And blackest flaw. 

v. 
Perfidies unnumber'd; 

Secrets dire, 
Written out and burning 

As with fire ; 



THE INTERVIEW. L)0 

The motives of a life, 
Laid bare as with a knife, 

Through quivering flesh ; 
Dead things that no man knew. 
Most wretched, but most true, 

Revived afresh. 

YT. 

All my love and madness } 

All my guilt ; 
All my tears of anguish 

Vainly spilt ; 
My agonies and fears ; 
The skeletons of years ; 

My hopes entomb'd ; 
My crimes ; my broken truth ; 
Up from the deeps of youth 

Before me loom'ch 

VII. 

tt Hide it, cruel spirit, 
Or 1 die ! 



60 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

'Tis too vile to look at 
With life's eye !"— 

I cover'd up my face ; 

Between me and its place 
Came mist and cloud : 

" And is tins heart, my heart — 

So foul in every part ? "— 
I groan'd aloud. 

VIII. 

Light broke in upon me 

From afar ; 
And faith in God, high-shining 

Like a star. 
And when I looked again, 
I saw, amid the stain 

Of that frail clay, 
A glow of pure desire — 
A spark of heavenly fire — 

Burning alway. 



THE INTERVIEW. Gl 



IX. 



" Shall I sit lamenting ? — 

Ah, not so ! 
Sympathy and pity 

For men's woe, 
A love surpassing death, 
A calm but humble faith, 

To me are given ; 
Accuser!— in this hour 
My heart defies thy power, 

With strength from Heaven 1" 



o^o 



62 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



THE LOVER'S DREAM OF THE WIND. 



" The Wind before it woos the Harp, 
Is but the wild and tuneless air, 
Yet as it passes through the chords, 
Changes to Music rare." — T. Powell. 



I dream'd tliou wert a fairy Harp, 

Untouch' d by mortal hand, 
And I the voiceless, sweet west wind, 

A roamer through the land. 
I touch' d, I kiss'd thy trembling strings, 

And lo ! my common air 
Throbb'd with emotion caught from thee, 

And turn'd to music rare. 



THE LOVER'S DREAM. G3 

II. 

I dream'd thou wert a Eose in bloom. 

And I the gale of spring, 
That sought the odours of thy breath, 

And bore them on my wing. 
Xo poorer thou, but richer I, — 

So rich, that far at sea, 
The grateful mariners were glad, 

And bless'd both thee and me. 

in. 
I dream'd thou wert the Evening Star, 

And I a lake at rest, 
That saw thine image all the night 

Reflected on my breast. 
Too far ! — too far ! — come dwell on Earth, 

Be Harp and Eose of May : — 
I need thy music in my heart. — 

Thy fragrance on my way. 



64 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



DOWN UPON THE GREEN EARTH. 

i. 

Five hundred years the royal tree 

Has waved in the woods his branches free ; 

But king no longer shall he stand, 

To cast his shadow o'er the land ; 

The hour has come when he must die : 

Down upon the green earth let him lie ! 

ii. 

No more beneath his spreading boughs 
Shall lovers breathe their tender vows ; 
No more with early fondness mark 
Their names upon his crinkled bark, 



DOWN L'POX THE GREEN EARTH. 65 

Or icily dream and softly sigli : 

Down upon the green earth let him lie ! 



The lightning stroke has o'er him pass'd, 
And never harm'd him first or last ; 
But mine are strokes more sure, I trust, 
To lay his forehead in the dust ; 
My hatchet falls — the splinters fly : 
Down upon the green earth let him lie ! 



IV. 

But yet, although I smite him down, 
And cast to earth his forest crown, 
The good old tree shall live again, 
To plough deep furrows o'er the main, 
And flaunt his pennant to the sky : 
Down upon the green earth let him lie 
F 



66 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

V. 

Full -breasted to tlie favouring breeze. 
He shall be monarch of the seas, 
And bear our Britain's triumphs far, 
In calm or tempest, peace or war ; 
Tis but to live that he must die : 
Down upon the green earth let him lie ! 



THE STEPPIXG-STOXES. G7 



THE STEPPING-STONES. 



Maiden on the stepping-stones 
O'er the brawling river, 

Pass, nor stop to gaze below ; 

Heed not how the waters flow, 
Rolling on for ever. 



II. 

Shallow seeming, deep as death, 
Rolls the haunted river; 

Evil spirits in its wave 

Lurk to drag thee to the grave. 
Pitiless for ever. 
F 2 



68 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

III. 

If thy garment's hem but touch 

That exulting river, 
If thy feet but stop to play 
With a ripple on the way, 

Thou art lost for ever. 

TV. 

Clear and pure it seems to run — 

False deluding river ! 
At thy touch its waves will swell, 
Frothing, foaming, each a well 

Gurgling up for ever. 

v. 

Maiden on the stepping-stones 

O'er the brawling river, 
Pray to God to be thy guide 
From the fiends on either side, 
Tempting thee for ever. 



THE MUSICIAN. 69 



THE MUSICIAN. 



PART I.— EARTH-SORROWS. 

The melodies ! the harmonies ! 

They fall from my fingers free, 
Like rain where the tree-tops quiver, 
Like hail on the rippling river, 

Like sunbeams on the sea. 
And there are thoughts within them, 

And fancies fresh and young ;— 
But, alas ! I cannot utter them 

For failure of my tongue. 
The melodies, the harmonies, 

Unspoken and unsung ! 



70 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

I would I were a poet, 

And that my thoughts could reach 
The magic and the mystery, 

And affluence of speech ; — 
That I might tell my secrets 

And all that I could teach ; — 
Or that some kindly minstrel, 

With thoughts akin to mine, 
Would deign to sit beside me, 

And help me to entwine 
My music with his language 

Into a chain divine, 
That men might bind their hearts with, 

Like a trellis'd vine. 

But the melodies ! the harmonies ! 

They die as they are born, 
With none to understand them ; — 
So sweetly as I plann'd them, 

In my joy forlorn ! 



THE MUSICIAN. 71 

The breath of an emotion 

And a happy pain, 
They drop on the wide, wide ocean, 

Like the barren rain ; 
And when I would revive them, 

I look for them in vain. 



PART II.— HELL-PAINS. 

Oh, vile, vile catgut-scrapers, 

Tormentors of sweet Sound, 
That bruise her, and destroy her, 

My queen, my goddess crown'd ! 
What has dear Music done, 

She that so loveth us, 
Ye bloodless and stone-hearted, 

That you should use her thus ? 



72 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Each movement of your arms 

Goes through, me like a pang ! — 
Ye singers and horn-blowers, 

There's death in every twang ! 
'Twas surely Satan school'd you, 

And well you've learn'd your parts, 
To vex, to plague, to torture 

Our unoffending hearts ! 

You could not be more cruel, 

If, wielding barbs and prongs, 
You dug them in my bosom, 

And call'd the misery, — songs ! 
My ear is wrench'd and bleeding 

At every note you make ; 
Be silent — oh, be silent — 

For heavenly Pity's sake ! 

What would I give ! what tribute 
Of worship and of tears, 



THE MUSICIAN. 73 

If Song, as I Lave dream' d it, 

Could flow on my happy ears ! 
If one — one only singer, 

Amid this peopled earth, 
Could understand my music 

As I who gave it birth ; — 
Such as my soul design' d it ! — 

Alas ! 'tis vain to seek : — 
Men sing, and the hot blood rushes 

In madness to my cheek, 
And women tear my heart out, 

As they squeal, and scream, and shriek. 

Come, bore in my ear with corkscrews ! 

Make every nerve a knot, 
And pierce my brain with needles, 

If pain must be my lot ; 
But cease, oh ! cease, in mercy, 

This misery supreme, 
That Hell can never equal ! — 



74 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

And let me lie and dream 
That to my soul, long- suffering, 

Will clue reward be given, — 
My music sung by angels 

Amid the choir of Heaven ! 



FART III.— HEAVEN-JOYS. 

O Music ! my delight ! 

My soul's supremest joy! 
Let me lie to-night, to-night, 

On thy bosom coy ! 
Let me lie all night awake, 

Embalm'd in thy honey breath, 
That wafts me up to Heaven, 

In a wild ecstatic death. 
Up ! up ! above the stars 

With thee I float ! I soar ! 



THE MUSICIAN. 

To the shadow of God's throne ! 

To the world-bespangled floor ! 
Where sit the white-robed seraphs, 

Singing for evermore ! 



Music ! oh, my life ! 
How beautiful art thou ! 

With the Love in thy deep, deep heart, 
And the Wisdom on thy brow ! 

As I play with the golden hair 

That falls o'er thy shoulders fair, 
I deem that every thread 

To my toying fingers given, 
Is a ray of sunlight spread, 

Or a string from the Harp of Heaven. 

1 feel thy beating heart, 

And know, sweet lady mine, 
That it throbs to the march of worlds, 
With a harmony divine. 



UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

I touch. ; but dare not kiss thee, 

For the glow of thy burning eyes, 
Lest I should yield my spirit 

In my speechless ecstasies, 
And be slain like a mortal lover 

"Who dares to raise his thought 
To the beauty of a goddess, 

Loving, but lightning-fraught ! 

Yet, since I'm born to die, 

And to float into the Past, 
Let me die on thy beating bosom, 

My bride, my first and last! 
Drinking thy whisper'd rapture, 

Let me faint upon thy breast, 
And melt away in echoes, 

Immortal with the blest ! 



^isOS^f^C^ 



KILRAVOCK TOWER. 



KILRAYOCK TOWEK. 

Forlorn old tower ! that lookest sadly clown 
Upon the river glittering in the light, 
Upon the green leaves of the clambering woods. 
And o'er the wide expanse of mountain-land, 
How many tales thine ancient walls might tell ! 
And vet. thou silent undivulgins tower. 
WHat couldst thou tell us that we do not know ? 
The matter of all history is the same. 
Time in all changes can but iterate 
The morn and eve, the noon-time and the night, 
The spring's fresh promise and the autumnal fruit, 
The leaves of summer and the winter's snow. 
And human story still repeats itself. — 
The form may differ, but the soul remains. 



78 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Four hundred years ago, when thou wert built, 
Men err'd and suffer' d ; — Truth and Falsehood waged 
One with the other their perpetual war ; — 
And Justice and Id justice, Right and Wrong, 
Succumb' d and triumph'd as they do to-day. 
The young heart loved with passionate earnestness, 
The old heart scorn'd all follies but its own ; 
And Joy and Sorrow — Jealousy — Revenge — 
Lusty Ambition — skulking Avarice — 
Patience and Zeal — and persecuting Rage — 
Pity and Hope — and Charity and Love — 
All good and evil passions of the mind, 
Brighten'd or darken'd — oh, thou mouldering wall ! 
Through all the landscape of humanity. 

Couldst thou divulge whatever thou hast seen, 
Thou couldst but call these spirits from the Past 
To read us lessons. — Ancient Tower ! thy voice 
Need not instruct us ; for we look around 
On highways or on byways of our life, 



KILRAVOCK TOWER. 

And find no sorrow of the ancient days 
Unparallel'd in ours ; no love sublime. 
No patient and heroic tenderness, 
Xo strong endurance in adversity, 

Xo womanly or manly grace of mind. 

That we could not, if every truth were known. 

:li with its fellow in our later clays. 
So keep, old Tower, thy secrets to thyself! 
There's not a hovel in the crowded town. 
That could not tell us tomes of histories 
Of good and evil, wonderful as thine. 

KlLKAVOCK, NAIBNSHIEE. 



oC\£XG>>3— 



80 UNDER GKEEN LEAVES. 



HORNYHAND. 



How now, Hornyhand, 

Toiling in the crowd, 
"What is there in thee or thine 
That thou scornest me and mine — 

Looking down so proud ? 
Thou'rt the bee, and I'm the drone !- 

Not so, — Hornyhand ! — 
Sit beside me on the sward; — 

Where's the need to stand? 
And we'll reason, thou and I, 
'Twixt the green grass and the sky. 



HOKNTHANB. £ 1 



II. 

Thou canst plough and delve, 

Thou canst weave and spin, 
On thy brow are streaks of care. 
Iron-grey 's thy scanty hair 

And thy garments thin ; — 
Were it not for such as thou, 

Toiling morn and night, 
Luxury would lose its gauds, 

And the land its might ; 
Mart and harbour would decay, 
Tower and temple pass away. 

in. 

Granted, Hornyhancl ! 

High 's the work you do ; — 
Spring-time sowing, autumn tilth, 
And the red wine's lusty spilth, 

Were not but for you. 

G 



UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Art and arms, and all the pride 
Of our wealth and state, 

Start from Labour's honest hands, - 
Labour high and great, 

Sire of Plenty, friend of Mirth, 

Master of the willing Earth. 



IV. 

Yet, good Horny hand, 

Why shouldst thou be vain ? 
Why should builder, ploughman, smith, 
Boastful of their strength and pith, 

Scorn the busy brain ? 
Working classes, self-bedubb'd ! — 

As if none but they 
Labour'd with incessant toil, 

Night as well as day, 
With the spirit and the pen, — 
Teachers, guides, and friends of men ! 



HOBNYHAND. 83 



Drones there are, no doubt ; — 

Yet not all who seem : 
Flesh and blood are not the whole, 
There's a honey of the soul, 

Whatsoe'er thou deem. 
Is the man who builds a book, 

That exalts and charms, 
Not as good as he who builds 

With his brawny arms ] 
What were Labour but for Thought ?— 
Baseless effort, born of nought ! 

VI. 

Many a noble heart, 
Many a regal head, 
Labours for our native land 
Harder than the horniest hand 
For its daily bread. 
G 2 



84 UNDEB GREEN LEAVES. 

Painter, poet, statesman, sage, 
Toil for human kind, 

Unrewarded but of Heaven, 
And the inner mind. 

Thou recantest ?— So !— 'Tis done ! 

Pass from shadow into sun ! 



-€**&&~^ 



S1IACKABACK. 85 



SHACKABACK. 

This term is applied, in some of the rural districts of 
England, to a lazy fellow, who loves to doze in the sunshine 
rather than to work, and who would rather poach than 
plough. 

I. 

They call me Shackaback ;— 
Shack aback ; — 
And knave and lazy loon. 
Because, though hale and strong, 
I'm idle all day long, 

And carol to the glimmer of the moon. 
Let them rail, Shackaback ! 
There is money in thy sack, 
Quite enough for the needs of to-day ; 
Let the angry Justice growl, 
And the Overseer howl — 
While it lasts, Shackaback will play. 



86 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



II. 



It may be, Shackaback, — - 
Shackaback, — 
That heedless of the morn, 

Tbou'rt as happy as "my Lord/' 

Or "his Worship" at the board, 
Or the Lawyer, money -grubbing and forlorn, 

Let them grub, Shackaback ! 

There are blossoms on thy track ; — 
'lis something to have nothing, yet be gay,- 

To lie upon the grass, 

And to watch the shadows pass, 
Without debts to gather in, or to pay ! 



III. 

They say that Shackaback, — 
Shackaback, — 
Goes out, when nights are clear, 



SIIACKABACK. 87 

With the musket or the snare, 

For the partridge or the hare, 
With his comrades " in the season of the year." 

Have they proof, Shackaback 1 

If they have, why, then good lack ! — 
I can travel like my betters — and away ! 

And if not, why, let them rail — 

I've my bacon and my ale, 
And leisure to be merry while I may ! 



88 UNDEE, GKEEN LEAVES. 



OBVEESE AND REVERSE. 



PART I.— THE EMPRESS. 



Scant and frosty is my Lair, 

Age and care 
Clog my pulses, thin my blood, — 
I would give my royal crown, 

Gem-bestud, 
Purple robes and ermine-down, 
For the tresses rich and brown 

Of a clown : 
I would yield up gold and pearl, 
Tor the bright eyes of a girl 3 



THE EMPRESS. SO 

Prosperous counties — all ray wealth, 
For a country maiden's health ; 

Duchies wide — 

All my pride — 

All my armies — all my ships, 
For the blood of youthful lips. 

II. 

At my palace-window oft — 

Up aloft, 
Looking down the crowded street. 
I behold the maidens go, 

Brisk of feet 
To the market or the show, 
Laughing, tripping to and fro 

In a row ; 
And could hate them — woe is me, — 
For their light limbs moving free, 
For their brisk elastic tread, 
For their cheeks like cherries red, 



90 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

For their hair 
Flowing fair ! — 

Oh ! the May-time I have lost ; 

Oh ! the nipping of the Frost ! 



PART II.— THE SEMPSTRESS. 



I wish I were an Empress, 
And had a crown to wear, 

A stomacher of diamonds, 
And pearls to deck my hair, 

And a train of purple velvet 
For noblemen to bear. 



THE SEMPSTRESS. 01 



II. 

I wish I were an Empress 3 

And sat upon a throne, 
Receiving great ambassadors 

From every clime and zone \ 
With princes at my footstool 
To make my pleasure known, 

in. 

I wish I were an Empress, 
And rode a prancing bay. 

Amid my people shouting 
And garlanding my way ; 

With trumpeters before me— 
Tooroo I — Tooroo !— Tooray I 

IV. 

I wish I were an Empress — 
The glory of the land. 



92 UNDEft GREEN LEAVES. 

With half a dozen monarchs 
Contending for my hand, 

Which I should scorn to give them— 
Let all men understand ; 

v. 

Which I should scorn to give them, 
As far too great a prize, 

Unless to some one handsome, 
And brave, and good, and wise, 

Who loved me more than kingdoms, 
For the twinkle of mine eyes. 

VI. 

I wish I were an Empress, 
My crown upon my head; — 

I'd feed the poor man's orphans 
Who lack'd their daily bread, 

And give each maid a dowry, 
Who needed one to wed. 



THE SEMPSTRESS. 93 

VII. 

I wish I were an Empress — 

Alas, roy cruel fate ! 
I'm nothing but a pretty girl, 

And toil both hard and late, 
And waste my youth in sighing — 

Too poor to find a mate ! 



94 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



SUPPOSITIONS. 

That Earth's no Paradise 
We know as well as you, 
"What then ? you dark dull soul ! 
Suppose in the deep blue sky 
There never was seen a star, 
Suppose the bounteous Earth 
~No more brought forth a flower, 
And trees were barren sticks — 
Like you, my worthy friend ! — 
And never put out a leaf 
To wave in the summer wind; — 
And suppose the free fresh air 
Were stagnant as a pool ; — 
'Tis possible you might live — 
But where would be the charm 



SUPPOSITIONS. 95 

Of the garden and the fields 
And the beauty of the sky ? 

And, coming to nearer things, 
Suppose there were no grass 
To cover the naked clay ; 
Suppose the birds were mute, 
And nightingales and larks 
"Were dumb as perch or trout ; 
And suppose there were no dogs 
To look in the face of man, 
Confiding and beloved ; 
Xo horses and no kine 
To minister to his use ? 
You could live — 'twere vain to doubt — 
Like the oyster on the bank, 
And prize your grovelling life 
And cling to it, if Death 
Untimely summon' d you 
To quit its stagnant shore ; — 
But many a true delight, 



96 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

And many an innocent charm, 
And many a thing of joy 
Would leave the world less fair 
To men of finer mould, 
Though fit enough for you. 
Go away, grumbler ! go ! 
And ere you talk again 
Of the utter misery 
And darkness of the world, 
Be grateful for the flowers. 
And if your purblind eyes, 
My most respectable friend ! — 
Can dare to look so high, 
Be thankful for the stars. 



o^o 



THE COBBLER. 97 



THE COBBLER. 



Ben Arthur, or the Cobbler, rises in great majesty and 
grandeur at the head of Loch Long to the height of 2,400 
feet — his fantastic peak cracked and shattered into every 
conceivable form. From one point it resembles the figure of 
a cobbler. Hence the popular name of the mountain. — 
Tourists' Guide. 



Fah away ! up, in his rocky throne, 

The gaunt old Cobbler dwells alone. 

Around his head the lightnings play 

Where he sits with his lapstone, night and day, 

No one seeth his jerking awl, 

No one heareth his hammer fall; 

But what he doth when mists enwrap 

The bald and barren mountain-top, 

And cover him up from the sight of man, 

No one knoweth— or ever can, 

H 



98 UNDER GREEN LEAVES, 

II. 

Oft in the night, when storms are loud, 

He thunders from the drifting cloud, 

And sends his voice o'er sea and lake 

To bid his brother Bens awake ; 

And Lomond, Lawers, and Venue, 

Answer him back with wild halloo ; 

And Cruachan shouts from his splinter d peaks, 

And the straths respond when the monarch speaks \ 

And hill with hill and Ben with Ben, 

Talk wisdom — meaningless to men. 

in. 

And oft he sings, this Cobbler old, 

And his voice rings loud from his summits cold, 

And the north wind helps him with organ-swell, 

And the rush of streams as they leap the fell. 

But none interprets right or wrong 

The pith and burden of his song, 



THE COBBLER. 99 

Save one, a weird and crazy wight, 
Oppress' d with the gift of the second sight, 
Who tells the shepherds of Glencroe 
What the Cobbler thinks of our world below. 

IV. 

"CobbleT' he saith, "we cobble all, 

Wise and simple, great and small. 

The kins' from under his golden crown, 

Over his troubled realm looks down, 

For the state machine is out of gear, 

And grates and creaks on the people's car : 

' Cobble it up ! ' he cries, forlorn, 

' To last us till to-morrow morn ; 

'Twill serve my time if that be done — ■ 

Cobble and patch — and let it run ! ' 



"And statesmen look — the cold and proucl- 
On the sweating, moiling, groaning crowd, 
h 2 



100 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

And hear the murmur, hoarse and deep, 
Of the discontent that will not sleep ; 
And half reluctant, half afraid, 
To touch the ills themselves have made, 
They take the bristle and awl in hand, 
And cobble, cobble, through the land. 
' Strike your hammers, wax your thumbs, 
After us the deluge comes ! 

VI. 

" The sage puts out his sleepy head, 

From the hole in the wall where he was bred, 

And looks at the world, that seems to him 

To be going wrong in the foglight dim. 

' A shoe ! ' quoth he, ' an ancient shoe, 

Letting the mire and the water through. 

I can mend it, I opine, 

I've the leather, the wax, the twine ; 

I'm the man for the public* weal, 

Patch and cobble it, toe and heel ! ' 



THE COBBLER. 101 



VIL 



" From ancient days till Time's last hour 
Your cobblers have been men of power. 
Your Alexander, who was he ? 
As great a cobbler as could be. 
And who your kings of later birth, 
The lords and demi-gods of earth ?— 
Your Tamerlanes, and Ghengis-Khans, 
Your Peters, Pauls, and Suleimans % 
And great ISTapoleons, red with gore % 
Cobblers I cobblers ! nothing more 1 

VIIL 

" And from the very dawn of time, 
In every country, age, and clime, 
Who were the Solons, Zenos, Dracos I 
Who the Stagyrites and Platos 1 
Who the stoics and the schoolmen, 
Hammering words with brutum fulmen ? 



102 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Who the metaphysic spouters, 
Dark expounders, drifting doubters ? 
Great and little — sane ones, mad ones 1 — 
Cobblers all ! and very bad ones I 

IX. 

"And ye who seek to loose and bind, — - 
Ye great reformers of mankind, — 
Who think the soul a mere machine, 
That you can trim, and oil, and clean, 
And all men's passions — broad as day — • 
But dust that you can brush away ; 
Who think you've all the skill and leather 
To put a proper shoe together : 
You're only cobblers like the rest, — 
Bungling cobblers at the best." 

X. 

Sitting above the mountain-springs, 
'Tis thus the ancient Cobbler sings j. 



THE COBBLER. 103 

You may hear his voice in the winter storm 
Ring through the mist that keeps him warm. 
When he catches the clouds, you may hear the strain, 
As they break from his hoary head in rain. 
And when the summer thunders jar 
There comes loud chorus from afar : 
" All are cobblers — high or low, 
" Quoth the Cobbler of Glencroe." 



Aeboquhae, Aegyleshiee. 
August, 1856. 



— ^zSF&F&g^fc 



104 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



TELL ME NO MORE. 

Tell me no more amid these silent mountains, 
Beneath these green leaves, musical with song, 

Lull'd by the whisper of these upland fountains, 
The old unvarying tale of guilt and wrong. 

Leave me alone one day, with Nature's beauty, — 
One day — one night — an alien to my care : 

The needful rest will nerve my soul to duty, 
And give me strength to struggle and to bear. 

If it be true that Love is born to Sorrow, 

That Hope deceives, and Friendship fades away,- 

Let the sad wisdom slumber till to-morrow, 
Nor stand between me and this summer-day. 



TELL ME NO MORE. 105 

If I am free to dive in Truth's deep ocean, 
I will be free to linger on the shore, 

To watch the billows in their wild commotion, 
And hear far off their melancholy roar. 

Pearls for the diver battling with the billows ! 

Pearls for his mournful pomp, and lonely pride ! — 
For me, this day, a harp upon the willows, 

And flowers fresh-gather d bv the water's side. 



106 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



ENGLISH VIRTUES. 



The virtues of old England ! 

We'll count them if we can, 
And prove to all who doubt us 

What makes the Englishman ; 
What makes us stand the foremost 

Among the brave and free ! 
What did our sires in days of old. 

And what in ours will we. 

II. 

From Agincourt and Cressy, 

To Nile and Inkermann, 
We've shown the wondering nations 

What English valour can. 



ENGLISH VIRTUES, 107 

Oar foes have felt our courage 

In every clime and sea \ 
Our fathers stood like solid oak 7 

And so, to death, will we, 

in. 

In times when evil fortune 

Assail'd our country's cause?. 
Around the throne we rallied, 

Defenders of our laws ; 
Around the throne and altar. 

And home, the sheltering tree ; 
Thus did of old our loyal sires, 

And so, true hearts, will we, 

Our ships in ev'ry ocean 

Are messengers of peace ; 
They carry happy tidings, 

And bid the world increase. 



108 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Our traders thrive by honour, 
Their words and bonds agree ! 

Our fathers wrought for honest gold, 
And won it — so will we. 

v. 

And in all times and places, 

We cherish woman's worth ; 
Through all our isles we own her, 

The love — light of the earth ; 
To youth and age we offer 

Respect and bended knee, 
Thus did our sires, and taught their sons, 

And so, true hearts, will we. 



VI. 



And if we're rich and thriving, 



We'll keep an open door ; 

If poor ourselves, the poorer 

Shall taste our little store. 



ENGLISH VIRTUES. 109 

The hospitable wine-cup 

Shall circle in our glee ; — 
Our fathers spread the welcome board, 

And so, true hearts, will we, 

VII. 

The virtues of Old England ! 

We'll prove them if we can 1 
And show to all who doubt us 

"What makes the Englishman ; 
What makes us stand the foremost 

Among the brave and free ! 
Thus did our sires in days of old, 

And so, true hearts, will we. 



110 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



GIDEON GRAY. 



Gideon Gray — poor Gideon Gray ! 

He lies in the meadow grass, 
And all day long looks up at the clouds, 

And watches them as they pass, — 
He smiles to them, sings to them, shouting aloud 

If the little clouds lag behind ; 
And waves his arms as the oak-tree waves 

Its boughs to the summer wind. 
And what doth he think? what doth he see 

In the darkness and the shade ? 
His soul is in the outer- dark, — 

None knows but the God who made. 



GIDEON GRAY. Ill 



II. 



Gideon Gray — poor Gideon Gray ! 

He sits by the wintry fire, 
And watches the live coals in the grate 

With eyes that never tire. 
He sings a song to the chirruping flames, 

And balances to and fro 
All day long, like the tick o 5 the clock, 

While the pine-log embers glow. 
There is no meaning in his mirth,— 

His tenantless eyes express 
Nothing but ignorance of pain, 

And a stone-like happiness. 

in. 

Gideon Gray — poor Gideon Gray ! 

No misery touches him ; 
He hath no care ; the shadow of grief 

Were light to a soul so dim. 



112 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Oh ! give us grief, 'tis better than this ; 

Sorrow on Sorrow's head 
Ten times piled, were a lighter load 

Than a happiness so dread. 
Come, Sorrow, come ! we'll bare our breasts 

To meet thy heaviest blow, 
Resigned — if Reason keep her seat 

To guide us as we go. 



c-^^^*-)^^ 



THE MOUNTAIN TORRENT. IK 



THE MOUNTAIN TORRENT. 

Fair Streamlet, running 

"Where violets grow, 
Under the elm-trees, 
Murmuring low ; 

Rippling gently 

Amid the grass \ 
I have a fancy, 
As I pass : 
I have a fancy as I see 
The trailing willows kissing thee ; 
As I behold the daisies pied, 
The harebells nodding at thy side ; 
The sheep that feed upon thy brink, 
The birds that stoop to thy wave to drink \ 
Thy blooms that tempt the bees to stray, 
And all the life that tracks thy way. 
I 



114 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

I deem thou flowest 

Through grassy meads, 
To show the beauty 
Of gentle deeds; 
To show how happy 

The world might be, 
If men, observant, 
Copied thee : 
To show how small a stream may pour 
Verdure and beauty on either shore ; 
To teach what humble men might do, 
If their lives were pure, and their hearts were true ; 
And what a wealth they might dispense, 
In modest, calm beneficence ; 
Marking their course, as thou dost thine, 
By way-side flowers of love divine. 



And, Streamlet, rushing, 
With foam and spray, 



THE MOUNTAIN TORRENT. ] 1 5 

Over the boulders 
In thy way ; 

Leaping and rolling 

From rock to cave, 
A vast impetuous 

Onward wave : 

I have a fancy as I mark 

Thy fall o'er the precipices dark \ 

As I behold thy power re veal' d, 

And hear thy voice, like thunder peal'd \ 

I have a fancy as I sit 

Under the rocks where thy rainbows flit. 

And listen to thy roar and swell, 

Sonorous, irresistible. 



I deem thou leapest 
Adown the rocks, 

To show how little 
Are Fortune's shocks 
i 2 



116 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

To him reliant, 

Who knows his strength, 
And measures evil — 

Breadth and length : 
I deem thou flowest to teach us still, 
That perseverance conquers ill ; 
That no obstruction small or great, 
Can daunt the soul that dares its fate ; 
That calm, true hearts in peril's hour 
Confront it with superior power. 
Here at thy side I sit and dream 
These fancies twain, sweet Mountain Stream. 



c£®<o 



CASTLi: ATHELSTONE. 117 



CASTLE ATHELSTONE. 



Through porch and hall the ivies creep, 
In Beauty's bower the wild winds weep, 

The raven haunts the turret lone ; 
Alas for fallen Athelstone ! 

II. 

~No more the earls and knights of old, 
In pomp and pride of steel and gold, 
With nodding plumes and trumpet-tone, 
Come down to niightv Athelstone ! 

III. 

Ko more their sons, the rich and great, 
Receive the needy at their gate ; 
And call the fruitful shire their own : 

Their names are lost in Athelstone ! 



113 UNDER GREEN I^EAVES. 

IV. 

ISTo more tlieir daughters, fair and proud, 
Demand the homage of the crowd ; 
Their smiles made light where'er they shone : 
Their place is dark in Athelstone ! 

v. 

Their last descendant toils for bread, 
And mourns the glory that has fled ; 
In distant lands he dwells unknown, 
And sighs for ruin'd Athelstone ! 



THE HAWTHORN AND THE IVY. 119 



THE HAWTHORN AND THE IYY. 



The Hawthorn bloom' d to the vernal air, 
Merry and free in the woodland fair, 
Attired in garments nuptial white, 
She was a glory to the sight ; 
Her breath was sweeter than the morn : 
A beautiful tree was the wild Hawthorn. 

ii. 

The Ivy rooted by her side, 

Woo'd and won her for his bride ; 

She was fain to be embraced, — 

He twined his arms about her w'aist : 

"Oh joy!" said he, "that I was born, 

To love this beautiful wild Hawthorn !" 



120 UXDEK GREEN LEAVES. 

III. 

Alas ! for this world of grief and pain ! 

Wed, not mated, were the twain : 

She was tender, mild, and true ; 

He was selfish, through and through, 

And waved his leaves to the winds in scorn 

Of his blossoming, beautiful, wild Hawthorn. 

IV. 

She could not drink the clew or shower, 

Or feel the warmth of Summer's hour ; 

The Ivy stood between her heart 

And all the life the skies impart : 

She pined, she sigh'd, she lived forlorn, 

And died in her sorrow — the wild Hawthorn. 



THE VOLUNTARY. 121 



THE VOLUNTARY. 

The low, soft notes 
Trickled upon each other like the drip 
Of rain in summer upon trees and flowers, 
And lo ! I wander'd knee-deep in the grass, 
Through the green meadows prankt with buttercups, 
Valerian, daisies, and wild hyacinths. 
I heard the rippling murmur of a brook, 
Whose limpid waters sparkled to the sun; 
Upon its brink a troop of children sat, 
Fair boys with chubby cheeks and laughing eyes, 
And girls with ringlets waving to the wind ; 
They braided garlands of the meadow flowers, 
And tied them up with rushes. I could hear 



122 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Their joyous laughter and their artless talk, — 
The song of blackbirds in the neighbouring copse, 
The trumpet of the gnat, — the bee's loud horn,— 
And click of grasshoppers, like meeting spears. 



Anon the organ pour'd a deeper strain, 
And carried me away — far, far away — 
From the green meadows, miles and miles adown 
A lengthening river, widening evermore. 
I saw the towns and cities on its banks, — 
I heard the pealing of the holiday bells, 
And roar of people in the market-place, 
The flapping of the sails of merchant ships 
Laden with corn, that with each flowing tide 
Came upward to the towns ; I heard the creak 
Of chains and dropping anchors in the ports, 
And chorus, at the capstan, of the crews, 
As round and round they trod with measured steps, 
And all the bustle of their busy life. 



THE VOLUNTARY. 123 

And still away — away — in floods of sound, 
Tli' unseen musician, sitting at his keys, 
Transported rue, a willing auditor, 
Where'er his fancy would. The deep, full tones 
Grew deeper, fuller, louder, more sublime, 
Until the waves of music swoll to seas, 
Whose angry billows, white with crests of foam, 
Rush'd in impetuous thunder on the land, 
The Moon withdrew her splendour from the clouds, 
And hid herself in darkness ; the wind rose, 
And roar'd in chorus with th' exulting Sea, 
Who answer d it with thunders of her own. 
Eain, hail, and sleet, and avalanche of spray 
Broke in succession ; wind, and sea, and sky,— 
Octave on octave — burst in worlds of sound, 
The mighty discords clashing evermore, 
Only to melt and fuse in harmonies. 

Anon the lightning flash'd upon the dark. 
And thunders rattled o'er the cloudy vault, 



124 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

As if the chariots of the heavenly host 

Drove to the judgment-seat, and Earth's last day 

Were sounded by the trumpets of the spheres. 

The echoes roU'd through the cathedral aisles. 

And died in silence. Lo ! the round, full moon 

Peer'd from the bosom of a rifted cloud ; 

The wind sank low — the raging seas grew calm — 

While loud, clear voices, from the upper air, 

Sang in sweet harmonies, "The Lord is great, 

His lovino'-kindness lasts for evermore." 



——^^2m^ 



MEOPS. 125 



MEOPS. 

i. 

Meops lived ; a mighty man ; 

Had two castles by the sea, 
Parks in half a dozen shires, 

Hill and hollow, croft and lea. 
Horses, hounds, and fallow deer, 
Fifty thousand pounds a year, 

Lands in mortgage and in fee ; 
Splendid Meops ! — Envy's mark ! — 
Taper shining through the dark ! — - 

Mighty man was he ! 

II. 
Meops died — the great and high, — 

Left his castles by the sea; 
Left his horses, hounds, and hawks, 

Lands in mortgage and in fee ; 



126 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Left his flatterers, jesters, fools, 
Toadies, parasites, and tools; 

Left his wife and children three 
But when mighty Meops died, 
Not one living creature sigh'd ; 

Little man was he! 



^5^^ 



BEAUTY AND LOVE. 127 



BEAUTY AND LOYE. 

Beauty and Love, and are they not the same I 
The one is both — and both are but the one — 
Pervasive they of all around the sun; 

Of one same essence, differing but in name. 

Lo ! when pure Love lights his immortal flame, 
He, and all Earth and Heaven in Beauty shine ; — 
And when true Beauty shows her face divine, 

Love permeates the universal frame. 

Holy of holies — mystery sublime ! 
Who truly loves is beautiful to see, 

And scatters Beauty wheresoe'er he goes. 

They fill all space — they move the wheels of Time . 
And evermore from their dread L T nity, 

Through all the firmaments, Life's ocean flows. 



128 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



LOTEj NEW A:N T D OLD. 

i. 

And were they not the happy days, 

When Love and I were voiing, 
AVhen Earth was robed in Heavenly light, 

And all creation sung ? 
When gazing in my true love's face. 

Through greenwood alleys lone, 
I guess'd the secrets of her heart, 

By whispers of mine own ? 

ii. 

And are they not the happy days, 

When Love and I are old, 
And silver Evening has replaced, 

A ZJorn and ISToon of gold ? 



love; new and old. 120 

Love stood alone mid youthful joy, 

But now by Sorrow tried, 
It sits, and calmly looks to Heaven, 

With angels at its side. 



130 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



FAIREST AND DEAREST. 



Who shall be fairest 1 

Who shall be rarest ? 
Who shall be first in the songs that we sing ? 

She who is kindest, 

When Fortune is blindest, 
Bearing through winter the blooms of the spring ; 

Charm of our gladness, 

Friend of oar sadness 
Angel of Life, when its pleasures take wing ! 

She shall be fairest, 

She shall be rarest, 
She shall be first in the songs that we sing ! 



FAIREST AND DEAREST. 131 

II. 

"Who shall be nearest, 

Noblest, and dearest, 
Led but with honour and pride evermore I 

He, the undaunted, 

Whose banner is planted 
On Glory's high ramparts and battlements hoar ; 

Fearless of danger, 

To falsehood a stranger, 
Looking not back while there's Duty before ! 

He shall be nearest, 

He shall be dearest, 
He shall be first in our hearts evermore ! 



K Z 



132 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



THE MOUNTAIN-TOP. 

Poor is the man, however great his wealth, 
To whom the sunshine yields no mental health ; 
To whom the music of the early birds 
Can bring no solace sweet as spoken words ; 
To whom the torrent, with its ceaseless hymn, 
The streamlet wending through the copses dim, 
The upland lake, reflecting moon and star, 
Or mighty ocean gleaming from afar; 
The roar of branches in the wintry woods, 
The solemn diapason of the floods, 
All sights and sounds in Nature's varied range, 
Lovely in all and good in every change, 



THE MOUNTAIN-TOP. 133 

Can bring no charm serene, no joy refined, 
To please his heart or elevate his mind. 



But rich is he, however scant of gold, 
Who, in despite of sorrows manifold, 
Can find a joy at morn or eventide, 
And fresh instruction on the mountain-side ; 
Who loves the wisdom which the woodland yields, 
And all the dewy beauty of the fields. 
"Welcome to him, with a companion fit, 
Th' umbrageous depths where noonday chequers flit, 
The shady path, the voice of brawling streams, 
The silent pool where sunlight never beams, 
The snowy summits of the Alpine peak, 
The hopeful splendour on the morning's cheek, 
The glow of noon, the evening's tender light, 
And all the placid majesty of night, 
The peace and joy, the hope and love that dwell 
In Nature's eyes, for those who love her well. 



134 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Up to the mountain ! — ere the morn be late, 
And farewell "Wisdom, in her robes of state ; 
We'll bid her welcome, with her travelling suit, 
Her ashen staff, her knapsack, and her flute ! 
Up to the mountain !- — to the very cope ! — 
Over the moorlands — up the breezy slope ; — 
Or down in dells, beside the rippling brooks 
In their green furrows — through the loveliest nooks- 
To their top fountains, whence, meandering slow, 
They bound in beauty to the vales below ! 
Up to the mountain, in the air and sun, 
For health and pleasure to be woo'd and won ! 



How cheerily the voices of the morn 
Rise as we go ! The lark has left the corn, 
And sings her glad hosannas to the day ; 
The blackbird trolls his rich notes far away; 
While, from th' awaken'd homestead far adown, 
Come floating up the murmurs of the town. 



THE MOUNTAIN-TOP. 135 

Hark to the day's shrill trumpeter, the cock — 
The bark of hounds — the bleating of the flock — 
The lowing of the milk-o'erburden'd kine — 
And laugh of children ; sweetest music mine. 



Upwards, still up ! — and all these sounds expire 
In the faint distance, save that, mounting higher. 
We still can hear, descending from the cloud. 
The lark's triumphal anthem, long and loud, 
Or far away, a wanderer from the bowers, 
Rifling for sweets the now infrequent flowers, 
A solitary bee goes buzzing by, 
With livery coat, and bundle at his thigh ; 
With honest music, telling all that will, 
Eow great a worker rambles on the hill. 

A streamlet gushes on the mountain-side, 
It yields a draught to men of sloth denied ; 
Unknown to all who love the easy street 
Better than crags where cloud and mountain meet,— 



136 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Unprized, untasted in the plodding town, 
Where limbs grow rusty upon beds of down. 
Let no man say he has outlived delight, 
Who has not climb'd the mountain's topmost height, 
And found far up, when faint with toil and heat, 
A little fountain oozing at his feet, 
And laid him down upon the grass or stones, 
At his full length, to rest his weary bones, 
And drink long draughts at the delicious spring, 
Better than wine at banquet of a king : 
And when re fresh' d, and grateful for the gift, 
To fill his pocket-flask with prudent thrift, 
Then bathe his hands and face, and start again 
With keener pleasure, purchased by a pain. 



Upwards, still upwards, lies the arduous way ; 
But not still upward must our vision stray; — 
In climbing hills, as in our life, we find 
True Wisdom stops at times, and looks behind — 



THE MOUNTAIN-TOP. 137 

Stops to survey has ma 

The sunny levels ana the flowery shade, 
Or difficulties pass'd. Thus, as we go, 
We pause to view the loveliness below. — 
Or note the landscape widening as we climb, 
New at each turn, and variously sublime. 



How bountiful and kind is Heaven to man ! 

What ceaseless love pervades the wondrous plan ! 

Each sense, each faculty, and each desire, 

To those who humbly hope while they aspire, 

Is a perpetual source of secret joy, 

If Reason prompt and hallow its employ ; 

And all God's noblest gifts are most profuse, 

And simplest joys grow exquisite by use. 

I never see the landscape smiling fair. 

"Without delight that seems too great to bear ; 
© © j 

I never turn from man's to nature's face, 
Without a pleasure that I cannot trace ; 



138 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

I never hear the tempest in the trees, 
Without mysterious throbs of sympathies ; 
I never hear the billows on the shore, 
Without a secret impulse to adore ; 
Nor stand, as now upon the quiet hills, 
Without a mild religious awe, that fills 
My soul with raptures I cannot express, — 
Eaptures, not peace — a joy, not happiness. 



oO^^ gy^ 



ist. 130 



MIST. 

One day I walk'd through mist and haze of cloud : 

I could not see the sunshine in the sky \ 
I heard a mountain torrent pealing loud. 

But could not see it. though I knew 'twas nigh ;. 
I wander d on the sullen ocean-shore, 

But could not see the wrinkles on its face, 
And only knew 'twas ocean by its roar, 

So dense the vapour lay on all the place. 
Heavily on hill and plain 
Hung moisture, neither dew nor rain ; 
The birds were silent in the darkling bowers. 
And not a shadow fell to mark the hours : 
Ghost-like paced about the men, 

Through ghostly alleys, speaking low ; 
And every object on my ken 

Was vague, and colourless, and slow. 



140 UNDER GEEEN LEAVES. 

I ask'd a native what the land might be. 

" The land," he said, " of heavenly Poesy." 

" And who are these that wander up and down ? " 

" Poets/' he said, " of great and high renown." 

" And art thou of them ? " " No— not so," he sigh'd ; 

" I'm but a critic." " Tell me," I replied, 

""What kind of poesy these poets make. 

If they be makers, as true poets are, 
And whether from the clouds their hue they take, 

And sing without the light of sun or star." 
" We want no sunshine here," the critic said, 

" Nor wholesome light, nor shape too well defined ; 
There needs no radiance for the drowsy head, 

Nor vulgar common sense for sleepy mind. 
Our nerves are very finely strung, 

And much emotion would destroy them quite ; 
And if a meaning start to page or tongue 

Of our great poets, when they speak or write, 
They swathe and swaddle it in pompous rhyme, 

And darken counsel with vain words ; 



MIST. 141 

And girls, green-sickly, children of the clime, 

Proclaim it lovely as the chant of birds, 
And write it in their albums, or rehearse, 

With lisping chatter, the delightful verse. 
Sickly — sickly are our bards ; — 

The rose-tree gall is surely fair, 
Ay, fairer to our faint and dim regards 

Than healthy roses flaunting in the air. 
Most lovely is our daily languishment, 

Our sweet half-consciousness, our listless ease, 
Our inchoate discourse magniloquent, 

Through which we see the surging mysteries 
Of Time and Life, Eternity and Death ; 

Or think we see them ; is it not the same ? 
Death is a mist, and Life is but a breath, 

And Love a cloudy, ever-nickering flame." 
"Then," I rejoin'd, "the poets of this land, 
Misty and mystic, hard to understand, 
Do not desire, like Sliakspeare of old days, 
To reach the popular heart through open ways ; 



142 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

To speak for all men ; to be wise and true, 
Bright as the noon-time, clear as morning dew, 
And wholesome in the spirit and the form 1 " 

" Shakspeare ! " he answer'd, " may his name 
endure ! 
But what is he to us ? Our veins are warm 

"With other blood than his, perchance as pure. 
Each for his time ! — our time is one of mist, 
And we are misty, — love us those who list." 
He said, and disappear'd; and I took ship, 

And left that cloudy land ; and sailing forth, 
I felt the free breeze sporting at my lip, 

And saw the Pole-star in the clear blue North, 
And all the pomp of Heaven. Bight glad was I, 
Bareheaded to the glory of the sky. 



CRACKLETHORN, 143 



CRACKLETHORX. 



" For as the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is tl 
laughter of the fool : this also is vanity." — Eccksiastes. 



Theough a great and a mighty city 

I roam'd like one forlorn ; 
Through the city, amid the people. 

In the land of Cracklethorn. 
I heard the sorry jesters, — 

The dismal songs they sang, 
The crack of their witless laughter, 

Their loud, incessant slang. 
At the holiest and the highest 

They launched the wordy dart ; 
They sneer'd at manly honour, 

They scoff'd at woman's heart. 



144 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

They gibed and mock'd at Virtue, 

They ridiculed the truth, 
Till their old men grinn'd like monkeys, 

And a blight came o'er their youth. 
To be great, or wise, or lofty, 

"Was to earn their giggling scorn. 

" Come plague, and famine, or fire from Heaven," 

I said, like one forlorn, — 
" Come plague, and famine, and fire from Heaven, 

And fall on Cracklethorn ! " 



— c^A^y^f^^jg^-s — 



THE EGLANTINE. 145 



THE EGLAXTIXE, 



Modest Brier ! odour shedding, 

Down the lanes to cottage- doors ; 
Morn herself, if failing sweetness, 

Might replenish from thy stores, 
Charm of wild woods 1 humbly virtuous ; 

Heedless thou to flaunt or shine ; — 
Rich men praise thee, poor men bless thee 

Shy but lovely Eglantine ! 

II. 

Clad in garments white as Hlies, 
Xewly wash'd by April's tears, 

Scattering smiles like sunshine round her, 
Lo ! my love, my queen, appears. 
L 



146 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Fragrant Brier ! like the maiden 
Fair, but prizing virtue best ; 

Freshly gather'd, love inviting, 
Go and bloom upon her breast ! 



«-^^5^fe^3^a^* 



THE MEN OF THE NORTH. 14? 



THE MEN OF THE NORTH. 



Fierce as its sunlight, the East may be proud 
Of its gay gaudy hues and its sky without cloud : 
Mild as its breezes, the beautiful West 
May smile like the valleys that dimple its breast ; 
The South may rejoice in the vine and the palm, 
In its groves, vrhere the midnight is sleepy with balm: 

Fair though they be, 

There's an isle in the sea, 
The home of the brave and the boast of the free 1 
Hear it, ye lands ! let the shout echo forth, — 
The lords of the world are the Men of the North ! 
l 2 



148 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

IT. 

Cold though our seasons, and dull though our skies, 
There's a might in our arms and a fire in our eyes ; 
Dauntless and patient, to dare and to do, — 
Our watchword is " Duty," our maxim is " Through ! " 
Winter and storm only nerve us the more, 
And chill not the heart, if they creep through the 
door : 

Strong shall we be 

In our isle of the sea, 
The home of the brave and the boast of the free ! 
"Firm as the rock when the storm flashes forth, 
We'll stand in our courage — the Men of the North ! 

in. 

Sunbeams that ripen the olive and vine, 

In the face of the slave and the coward may shine ; 

Roses may blossom where Freedom decays, 

And crime be a growth of the Sun's brightest rays. 



THE MEN OF THE NORTH. 1-19 

Scant though the harvest we reap from the soil, 

O A 7 

Yet Virtue and Health are the children of Toil : 

Proud let us be 

Of our isle of the sea, 
The home of the brave and the boast of the free : 
Men with true hearts — let our fame echo forth — 
Oh, these are the fruit that we grow in the North ! 



— ?*Q*£^Hf^M£>T 



150 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



THE TEEES. 



If you could dance when Orpheus piped, 

Ye oaks, and elms, and beeches, 
Try, when a man of modern time 

Your courtesy beseeches. 
'Twas but his fancy ! Well, 'tis mine, — 

So do your best endeavour : 
The facts of History pass away, 

The thoughts may live for ever. 

II. 

My friend the merchant of Cornhill,. 

Awake to nought but scheming, 
And he who plods in Fig-tree Court, 

Will call this idle dreaming. 



THE THEES. 151 

But ye shall dance, ye joyous trees, 

Though they may scoff or pity ; 
And measure, in their self-conceit,. 

Arcadia by the City. 

in. 

Come, Father Oak, so old and staid 5 

But vigorous and hearty, 
Shake off the soberness of years^ 

And join the merry party, 
'Tis not becoming 1 Harmless mirth 

Takes no account of ages, — 
So, Monarch of the "Woods, unbend. 

And frolic with your pages ! 

IV. 

And thou, superbest matron Beech, 

In all thy bloom of beauty, 
Relax j and learn that, now and then, 

Enjoyment is a duty. 



152 UNDEH GREEN LEAVES. 

And Lad j Lime, the honey sweet, 

With music in thy tresses, 
Step out, — the wild winds pipe the tune, 

And every moment presses. 

v. 

Ye damsel Birches, slim and fair, 

And capersome as misses 
Who've just come home from boarding-school, 

And dream of love and kisses, 
I know you're ready : come away, 

With silver-braided kyrtles, 
And. taper limbs, and flowing hair, 

And breath as sweet as myrtles. 

VI. 

Ye Firs and Larches, rough as lads 
Let loose from School or College ; 

Ye Poplars, stiff as men on 'Change, 
Forget your cram of knowledge. 



THE TREES. 153 

You're no such beauties of yourselves, 

But every tree an aid is, — 
And you'll improve in elegance, 

By contact with the ladies. 

VII. 

Ye steadfast Elms, our English trees, 

The charm of rural alleys, 
The grace of parks and village-greens, 

And darlings of our valleys : 
Come forth, with robes of flowing green, 

The ivy for your flounces, — 
The dance will languish in the dale, 

If one of you renounces. 

VIII. 

And you, like melancholy maids 

Who sigh on lonely pillovrs, 
Or widows, ere they've cast their weeds.— 

Ye fond, romantic Willows, 



154 UNDER GIIEEN LEAVES. 

Come from your looking-glass, the stream, 
And cease to play at Sorrow, 

And taste a little Joy to-day, 
To think about to-morrow. 

IX. 

And thou, dear Hawthorn, — sweetest sweet, 

The beautiful, the tender, 
Bright with the fondling of the sun, 

And prankt in bridal splendour,— 
Come with thy sisters, full of bloom, 

And all thy bridemaids merry, — 
Acacia, Chestnut, Lilac fair, 

The Apple, and the Cherry. 

x. 

Strike up the music ! Lo ! it sounds I 
The expectant woodlands listen ; 

They wave their branches to the sky, 
And all their dew-drops glisten. 



THE TREES. 155 

There comes a rustling from the heights, 

A buzzing from the hollow, 
They move, the ancient Oaks and Elms, 

And all the juniors follow, 

XI. 

They move, they start, they thrill, they dance, 

They shake their boughs with pleasure, 
And flutter all their gay green leaves, 

Obedient to the measure. 
They choose their partners ; Oak and Beech 

Pair off, a stately couple ; 
And Larch to Willow makes his bow, 

Th' unbending to the supple. 

XII. 

The Hawthorn, charm of every eye, 

In Beauty's ranks a leader, 
Has choice of many for her hand, 

But gives it to the Cedar. 



156 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

She loves the wisdom of his looks, 
And name renown d in story ; 

And he, th 9 effulgence of her eyes, 
And fragrance of her glory. 

XIIL 

The Poplar, very gaunt and tall, 

Says to the Ash : " May I press 
Thy fairy figure in the waltz 1 

If not, I'll ask the Cypress." 
And Ash consents, — but thinks her beau 

Has nothing that entices ; 
He looks so like a serviug-man, 

To hand about the ices. 

xiv. 

The Elms and Lindens choose their mates, 

And e'en the sturdy Holly; 
And all the Brambles and the Ferns 

Think standing still is folly, 



THE TREES. 157 

And foot it briskly on the sward, 

As wild as lads and lasses, — 
But make sad havoc, as they twirl, 

With all the flowers and grasses. 

xv. 

Come here, thou man of Lloyd's and 'Change, 

Come here, thou grave decider, 
Who splittest straws in Fig-tree Court— 

Come here, thou money' d spider, 
Who lendest cash at cent, per cent., 

And see our woodland pastime ! — - 
If once you see it, I'll be sworn 

It will not be the last time, 

You cannot see it ] Never will, 
'Twas waste of breath to ask you i 

To look an inch before your nose, 
Would sorely be to task you. 



158 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Come thou, sweet Lady of my heart ! 

My other self, and dearest : 
If there be music in the woods, 

Come, tell me if thou nearest. 

XVII. 

If there be spirits in the trees, 

Thine eyes, with inward lustre 
Caught from the fountains of thy soul, 

Will see them as they cluster. 
Thou nearest — seest ! Oh ! my love, 

Thy sympathy enhances 
All joys I feel, and turns to truths 

My shadows of romances. 

XVIII. 

Take root again, ye docile Trees, 
No longer leap and jostle ; 

There's other music in the boughs, — 
The Cuckoo and the Throstle. 



THE TREES. 159 

The breeze has dropped, the air is still, 

The long grass sleeps in quiet ; 
And dancing, in an hour so calm, 

Seems weariness and riot. 

XIX. 

Besides, the fitful mood has changed, 

Gone back to times Elysian, 
"When those who sat beneath the trees 

Could see a brighter vision. 
Well see it too. Come, potent wit^h, 

And do as thou art bidden ! 
Come, Fancy ! touch those wrinkled barks, 

And show what thev have hidden ! 

xx. 

The west wind roaming through the woods. 

With briery odours laden, 
Breathes gently, as from every tree 

Out steps a spirit maiden, — 



160 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Th' immortal Dryads, — old as Greece 
But youthful as this minute, 

And lovely as the loveliest thing 
That moves and sparkles in it ! 

XXI. 

Barefooted, in their robes of green, 

Blue- eyed, with tresses golden, 
By none but those whom Fancy loves, 

In all their pomp beholden; 
We see them on the sunny slope, 

And, credulous as childhood, 
Love, for their sakes, each teeming tree 

That blossoms in the wild wood. 

XXII. 

Oh ! richer far, than he who owns 
This forest, root and branches, 

And calculates how much 'twill yield 
For houses and ship-launches, — 



THE TREES. 161 

Whose trees are timber, nothing more, — 

We own, if we enjoy it ; 
And this great property of ours, 

We dare him to destroy it. 

XXIII, 

Ours is the forest — ours the land — 

And ours the great sky-ocean, 
Through which their ships can never sail, 

Whose pelf is their devotion. 
Leave us our dreams, ye men of facts, 

Who shake your heads profoundly, 
And tell us if ye're half as glad, 

Or if ye sleep as soundly ! 



~--£<7^^=£-^ 



II 



162 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



THE SONG OF THALIESSIK 



I have a people of my own, 

And great or small, whate'er they be, 
Tis Harp and Harper, touch and tone — 

There's music between them and me. 



And let none say, when low in death 
The soul-inspiring minstrel lies, 

That I misused my hand or breath, 
For favour in my people's eyes. 



THE SOXG OF THALIESSIff. 1G3 

Whate'er my faults as mortal man, 
Let foes revive tlieni if they must ! 

And yet a grave is ample span 

To hide their memory with my dust. 

But give, oh ! give me what I claim, 

The Harper's meed, the Minstrel's crown ; 

I never sang for sake of Fame, 
Or clutch' d at baubles of renown, 

I spoke my thought, I sang my song. 

Because I pitied, felt, and knew : 
I never glorified a wrong. 

Or sang approval of th' untrue. 

And if I touch' d the people's heart. 

Is that a crime in true men's eyes, 
Or desecration of an art 

That speaks to human sympathies ? 
M 2 



164 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

As man, let men my worth deny ; 

As Harper, by my harp I stand, 
And dare the Future to deny 

The might that quiver'd from my hand. 

A King of Bards, though scorn'd and poor, 
I feel the crown upon my head, 

And Time shall but the more secure, 
My right to wear it. — I have said 



--^*^r^tf^^^>s- 



AXGLIXG. 165 



ANGLING. 

Flow, river, flow ! 

Where tlie alders grow, — 

Where the mosses rest 

On the bank's high breast : 

Flow on, and make sweet music ever, 

Thou joyous and beloved river. 

Such peace upon the landscape broods, 
There is such beauty in the woods ; 
Such notes of joy come from the copse, 
And from the swinging oak-tree tops ; 



166 UXDER GREEN LEAVES. 

There are sucli sounds of life, and health, and pleasure 

Abroad upon the breeze, 
And on the river rippling at sweet leisure, 

Beneath its banks of fringing trees, — 
That to my mind a thought of death or pain 
Seems a discordant note in heavenly strain. 



Death is the rule of life : the hawk in air 
Pursues the swallow for his daily fare ; 
The blackbird and the linnet rove 
On a death-errand through the grove ; 
The happy slug and glow-worm pale, 
Must die to feed the nightingale ; 
The mighty lion hunts his destined prey ; 
And the small insect, fluttering on our way, 
Devours the tinier tribes that live unseen 
In shady nooks and populous forests green ; 
The hungry fish, in seas and rivers, 
Are death-receivers and death-givers; 



ANGLING. 1 ( 

And animalcule conceal' cl from sight. 
In littleness sublime and infinite, 

That whirl in drops of water from the fen. — 
Creatures as quarrelsome as men, — 
Or float in air upon invisible wings, 
levour the countless hosts of smaller things. 
2ut simple is the law which they obey — 
Tiey never torture when they slay, 
"Oiconquerable need, the law of life, 
Inpels the fiercest to the fatal strife : 
Thy feel no joy in stopping meaner breath, 
Ti. : man alone that makes a sport of death. 



kO, gentle river, flow, 
There the green alders grow, 
Vnere the pine-tree rears its crest, 
xnd the stock-dove builds her nest, 
There the wild-flow'r odours float, 
ind the lark with gushing throat 



168 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Pours out her rapturous strains 

To all the hills and plains; 

/ 

And if, amid the stream, 
The lurking angler dream 
Of hooking fishes with his treacherous fli(s, 
Reflect, oh river, the unclouded skies, 
And bear no windy ripple on thy breast j— 
The cloud and ripple he loves best, — 
So that the innocent fish may see, 
And shun their biped enemy. 

Flow, river, flow, 

Where the violets grow, 

Where the bank is steep, 

And the mosses sleep, 

And the green trees nod to thy waves beloV : 

Flow on and make sweet music ever, 

Thou joyous and beloved river ! 



CARELESS. 169 



CARELESS. 

Sprixg gave roe a friend, and a true, true love ; — 

The summer went caroling by, 
And the autumn brown' d, and the winter frown'd, 

And I sat me down to sigh : 
My friend was false for the sake of gold. 

Ere the farmer stack' d his rye ; 
And my true love changed with the fickle west wind. 

Ere winter dull'd the sky : 
But the bees are humming — a new spring's coming, 

And none the worse am I. 



170 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



JOAN OF AEC. 

Th' old Norman city, with, its towers and spires 

And gorgeous architecture, was to me 

The shrine of one great name ; where'er I went 

That memory followed me. From church to church, 

From the cathedral where King Richard sleeps, 

To St. Ouen and beautiful Maclou — 

From bridge to market-place, and justice-hall, 

A mighty spirit kept me company. 

Through quaint old streets, whose every window 

seem'd 
Old as the days when haughty Bedford held 
His martial court in Rouen, wander d I ; 
And still thy memory, hapless Joan of Arc, 
"Wander'd beside me. "Here," I said, "poor maid, 
Thou wert led captive, after saving France ! 



JOxVX OF ARC. 171 

Here tliou wert gibed and scorn' d by brutal men. 

Here, from their windows, peep'd the gaping crowd, 

To see tliee made a shameful spectacle. 

Here Superstition, pandering to Revenge, 

Accused thee of all vile and senseless crimes. 

Here, at their harsh tribunal, thy good deeds 

Were each interpreted in evil sense ; 

Thy love of country in their eyes became 

Treason most foul ; thy courage, lunacy ; 

Thy fortune, witchcraft ; thy young purity, 

An outward mask to hide the shame within. 

Ajid here, unhappy saviour of a realm, 

Th' ungenerous foemen, smitten by the steel 

Of warriors roused to battle by thy voice, 

Sated unmanly vengeance on thy head, 

And slew, by cruel fire and torturing pangs, 

The helpless woman they could not subdue. 

Rouen is sacred to thy memory ; 

The ancient city is thy monument ; 

There's not a spire or tower within its bound, 



172 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

But pleads for justice to thy slander'd name. 

Thou hast it, Spirit ! Compensating Time 

Has done thee justice, as it does to all, 

However hated, injured, or malign' d. 

The truly great and good have constant friends; 

The rolling centuries, in their behalf, 

Sue for reversal of th' unjust decree 

That doom'd their names to infamy and scorn. 

They never sue in vain ; and thine, sad maid ! 

Shines like a gem upon the brow of France — 

A pearl of beauty on her queenly crown ! 

Kouen, 1847. 



STORM APPROACHING. 173 



STORM APPROACHING. 



We live in a time of sorrow, 

A time of doubt and storm, 
When the thunder-clouds hang heavy, 

And the air is thick and warm ; 
When the far-off lightnings gather 

On the verge of the darkening sky, 
And the birds of the air, fear-stricken, 

To nest and cover fly : 
Look up ! ye drowsy people, 

There's desolation nigh. 

ii. 

Look up ! ye drowsy people, 
And shield yourselves in time, 



174 UNDEH GREEN LEAVES. 

From the wrath and retribution 

That track the heels of crime ; 
That lie in wait for the folly 

Of the lordly and the strong ; 
That spare nor high nor lowly 

From vengeance threat end long, — 
But strike at the heart of nations, 

And kings who govern wrong. 

in. 

Kneel down in the dust and ashes ! 

Kneel down, ye high and great, 
Who call yourselves the bulwarks 

Or fathers of the State, 
And clear your sleepy vision 

From selfishness and scorn, 
And mingle with the people, 

To learn what they have borne, — 
Their suffering and their sadness, 

Toiling forlorn, forlorn ! 



STOIUI APPROACHING. 175 



IV. 



Kneel down in the dust and sackcloth. 

And own, with contrite tears, 
Your arrogant self-worship, 

And wrongs of many years ; 
Your luxuries hard-hearted ; 

Your pride so barren-cold, 
Remote from the warmth of pity 

For men of the self-same mould, 
As good as yourselves, or better, 

In all but the shiny gold. 



Kneel down, ye priests and preachers, 
Ye men of lawn and stole, 

Who call yourselves physicians 
And guardians of the soul, — 

And own if ye have not hated 
Your brethren, night and day, 



176 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Because at God's high altars 

They bent another way, 
And sought not your assistance 

To worship and to pray. 

VI. 

Kneel down in the dust, confessing 

Ye've preach'd the truth of God, 
When your feet were swift for malice, 

And in evil pathways trod ; 
That ye've loved the flesh, and flesh-pots, 

Above the creed you taught ; 
And, at wealth and pomp aspiring, 

Have clutch'd them, passion-fraught : 
Ye hypocrites unholy, 

"Who hold religion nought ! 

VII. 

Kneel down — low down — ye traders, 
Ye men of mines and mills. — 



STOIWI APPROACHING. 177 

With your ships on every ocean, 

And beeves on a thousand hills ; 
With factories and workshops, 

And stalls in every mart ; 
Who serve the great god Mammon 

With singleness of heart, 
And give him soul and body, 

Till soul and body part ; 

VIII. 

Who talk of your faith and credit, 

And honour clear of stain ;— 
And own if ye have not cheated 

And lied for the sake of gain ; 
If ye have not done, in secret, 

Worse things than the wretch who steals 
Your 'kerchief from your pocket, — 

But which no tongue reveals, 
To shame you in the market 

Where barefaced Commerce deals. 

N 



178 UNBEK GBEEN LEAVES. 

IX. 

Kneel down, and own, soul-humbled, 

Ye traders of the street, 
If ye have not drugg'd the potion, 

Or the bread that poor men eat ; 
If ye have not dealt false measure, 

Or ground your workmen down, 
Or crush' d their wives and daughters 

Into the hideous town : 
Then gone to Church or Chapel, 

In your drab and brown. 

x. 

And you, ye toiling millions, 
Meek herd and flock of men ! 

That swink, and sweat, and suffer, 
For three-score years and ten, — 

Kneel down, in self-abasement, 
And ask yourselves, each one, 



STORM APPROACHING. 179 

If ve grow no evil passions, 

To shade you from the sun, — 
Or sit in chains, lamenting, 

When ve nimht rise and run. 

XI. 

Ask if ye do not grovel 

To things yourselves have made. — 
To the Lords of Many-Acres, 

To the Money-Grubs of Trade ; 

Ask if ye do not wallow 

Unseemly in the mire, 
"With brawls and feuds unmanly. 

In the filth of low desire : 
Gin-sodden' d and degraded.. 

Drinking; avenoins; fire. 

XII. 

And ask yourselves, ye lowly 

And reverential poor, 
h 2 



180 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Who go to Church on Sundays, 

With downcast looks demure, — 
If never at God's altars, 

With baseless prayers and sighs, 
Ye have not gazed at riches 

With fierce, exulting eyes, 
And said, "This world's rejected 

Shall grasp you in the skies,' 5 

XIII. 

Ask if when lordly fortune 

Yv^ent whirling past your door, 
Ye felt not bitter envy 

Burn at your heart's deep core, 
Or whisper you to patience 

With promises of Heaven, 
Where the poor, in regal garments 

As white as snow new-driven, 
Should look from their thrones at Dives 

In hell-fire unforgiven. 



STORM APPROACHING. 181 



XIV. 



Ask if sincere obedience 

To God's Almighty will 
Have taught you how to suffer 

The burthen of your ill ; 
And if no sordid barter 

Of this world for the next, 
Or thought of the rich man groaning. 

At the needle's eye perplex'd. 
Inspired your resignation 

When ye heard the holy teiit, 

xv. 

And you, ye lords and rulers, 
And magnates of the realm, 

Who scent impending danger 
That looms to overwhelm, — 

Have ye not, basely sleeping 

. I:i apathy and rust, 



182 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Been cowards to your duty, 
Betray'd your solemn trust, 

And given to-morrow's birthright 
For the morning's crust 1 

xvi. 

Sunk in the Sloughs of Faction, 

Obtuse, and blind, and dumb, 
Have ye not sold the safety 

Of ages yet to come, 
For triumphs over rivals 

Who sought to cast you out 5 
For paltry ease and quiet, 

Or the crowd's ignoble shout ; — 
Or laugh'd at degradation 

Though it hemm'd you round about? 

XVII. 

Awake ! awake ! ye sleepers, 
There's danger over all, 



STORM APPROACHING, 183 

When the strong shall be sorely shaken, 

And the wjak shall go to the wall ; 
When towers on the hill-top standing 

Shall topple at a word. 
And the principles of ages 

Shall be questioned with the sword, 
And the heart's blood of the nations 

Like fountains shall be pour'd. 

XVIII. 

When a fierce and a searching Spirit 

Shall stalk o'er the startled earth. 
And make great Thrones the playthings 

Of his madness or his mirth ; 
When ancient creeds and systems, 

In the fury of his breath, 
Shall whirl like the leaves of Autumn, 

When the north wind bellowetk, — 
And drift away unheeded, 

To the deep, deep seas of death. 



184: UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

XIX. 

The first large rain-drops patter, 

The low wind moans and sings, — 
Awake, ere the tempest gather, 

Rulers, and priests, and kings ! 
Ere the thunder-clouds are open'd, 

That wall and flank the sky ; 
Ere the whirlwind leaves its caverns, 

And the shafts of vengeance fly,— 
Look up ! ye drowsy people, 

There's desolation nigh ! 

September, 1856. 

OO^OC 



THE RAPID STREAM. 185 



THE KAPID STREAM. 



Oh streamlet swiftly flowing, 
Down, through the corn-fields going, 

Stay thy course with me ; 
For us the skylarks sing. 
For us awakes the Spring ; 
There's time to spare, the earth is fair j 

Why hurry to the sea ? 

II. 

The sky is bright above thee, 
Silvery branches love thee, 

Bending to the reeds ; 
No mill with busy wheel, 
Or ship with ploughing keel, 
With sad unrest disturbs thy breast, 

Amid thy flowery meads. 



136 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

III. 

Ambition's voice may woo thee, 
Glory and gold may sue thee ; 

All are empty breath ; 
The end is still the same, 
And Power and "Wealth and Fame 
But run at last, through deserts vast, 

To swell the sea of Death. 

IV. 

Then why, without enjoying 
Pleasures around us toying, 

Pass our rapid day 1 
Our cares will come full soon, 
Beneath the icy moon, 
And we'll behold the ocean cold ; — 

Let's linger while we may. 



the sailor's wife. 187 



THE SAILOR'S "WIFE.— Part. I. 



I've a letter from thy sire, 

Baby mine, Baby mine ! 
I can read and never tire, 

Baby mine 1 
He is sailing o'er the sea- 
He is coming back to thee, 
He is coming home to me, 

Baby mine ! 

II. 

He's been parted from us long 

Baby mine, Baby mine ! 
But if hearts be true and strong, 
Baby mine ! 



188 UNDEK GREEN LEAVES. 

They shall brave -Misfortune's blast, 
And be overpaid at last 
For all pain and sorrow pass'd, 
Baby mine ! 

in. 

Oh, I long to see his face, 

Baby mine, Baby mine ! 
In his old accustom'd place, 

Baby mine ! 
Like the rose of May in bloom, 
Like a star amid the gloom, 
Like the sunshine in the room, 
Baby mine ! 

IV. 

Thou wilt see him and rejoice, 

Baby mine, Baby mine ! 
Thou wilt know him by his voice, 
Baby mine ! 



the sailor's wife. 189 

By his love-looks that endear, 
By his laughter ringing clear, 
By his eyes that know not fear, 
Baby mine ! 

v. 

I'm so glad — I cannot sleep, 

Baby mine, Baby mine ! 
I'm so happy-— I could Yveep, 

Baby mine ! 
He is sailing o'er the sea, 
He is coming home to me, 
He is coming back to thee. 

Baby mine ! 



190 UNDEH GREEX LEAVES. 



THE SAILOR'S WIFE.— Part. II. 



O'er the blue ocean gleaming 
She sees a distant ship, 

As small to view 

As the white sea-mew, 
Whose wings in the billows clip. 
" Blow favouring gales, in her answering sails ! 
Blow steadily and free ! 

Rejoicing, strong, 

Singing a song, 

Her rigging and her spars among, 

And waft the vessel in pride along, 
That bears my love to me." 



e sailor's wife. 191 



II. 



Nearer — still nearer driving, 

The white sails grow and swell ; 

Clear to her eyes 

The pennant flies, 
And the flag she knows so well. 
" Blow favouring gales, in her answering sails ! 
Waft him, oh gentle sea 1 

And still, oh heart 1 

Thy fluttering start ! 

Why throb and beat as thou wouldst part. 

When all so happy and bless'd thou art 1 
He comes again to thee 1" 

in. 

The swift ship drops her anchor — 
A boat puts off for shore — 

Against its prow 

The ripples flow, 
To the music of the oar, 



192 UNDER GEEEN LEAVES. 

" And art thou here, mine own, my dear, 
Safe from the perilous sea ? — 
Safe, safe at home, 
£To more to roam ! 

BIoyv 7 , tempests blow — my love has come \ 
And sprinkle the clouds with your dashing- 
foam ! 
He shall part no more from me 1" 



-^=^mj^i^- 



EACH CLOCK OF MARBLE IX THE MINE. 192 



EACH BLOCK OF MARBLE IN THE MINE. 



Each block of marble in the mine 

Conceals the Panhian queen, 
Apollo robed in light divine, 

And Pallas the serene : 
It only needs the lofty thought 

To give the glories birth ; 
And, lo ! by skilful fingers wrought, 

They captivate the earth. 

ii. 

So in the hardest human heart 

One little well appears, 
A fountain in some bidden part, 

That brims with gentle tears . 
o 



194 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

It only needs the master-touch 
Of Love's or Pity's hand, 

And, lo ! the rock with water bursts 
And gushes o'er the land. 



<s-^&<5^4~)^^> 



THE SILENT HILLS. 195 



THE SILEXT HILLS. 

Wandering 'mid the silent hills, 

Sitting by the lonely rills, 

And meditating as I go 

On human happiness and woe. 

Fancies strange unbidden rise 

And flit before my placid eyes : 

Dreaminesses, sometimes dim 

As is the moon's o'erclouded rim ; 

And sometimes clear as visions are 

When the sleeping soul sees deep and far, 

Yet cannot, vyhen it vrakes, recall, 

For the senses' and the reason's thrall. 

I love, in idle moods like these, 
To sit beneath the shade of trees 
In idle and luxurious ease ; 
o 2 



196 UXDEH GREEN LEAVES. 

Or lie amid the fern and grass, 
And talk with shepherds as they pass : 
To learn their humble hopes and fears, 
And the small changes of their years. 

And if no shepherd saunters by, 
I can talk with the clouds of the sky, 
And watch them from my couch of fern, 
As, Proteus-like, they change and turn, — 
Now castles grey, with golden doors, 
Gem roofs, and amethystine floors ; 
Now melting into billowy flakes, 
Sky islands, or aerial lakes ; 
Or mimicking the form and show 
Of the huge mountains far below. 



And sometimes — vagrant, wild, and free- 
I look upon the grass and tree, 
With an all-pervading sympathy, 



THE SILENT HILLS. 107 

And bid them tell if life like theirs 

Is void of feeling, joys, and cares. 

And ever an answer seems to breathe 

From the branches above, and the sward beneath. 

And the tree says. "Many a joy is mine. — 

In the winter cloud, and the summer shine : 

With the daily heat, and the nightly dew 3 

strength and pleasure I renew. 
I sleep at eve when the shies grow dark. 
And wake at the singing of the lark, 

\ when the winter is crisp and cold, 
My life retreats beneath the mould, 
And waits in the warmth for the spring-time i 
To summon the sap to my boughs again. 
I feel like you the balmy air, 
And am grateful for a life so fair." 
And the grass, and the fern, and the waving reed-j. 
And the wild flowers, and the nameless weeds, 
Reply in a low, soft tone of song 
That creeps like an infant breeze along : 



198 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

" We live ; — and every life that's given 
Eeceives a joy from bounteous Heaven, 
In the reproduction of its kind, 
In the warmth, and the light, and the dew, and 
the wind." 

Deem me not idle if I stray, 
Oh ! sons of care, for awhile away 
From the crowded marts of busy men, 
To the wild woods and the lonely glen, 
And give my thoughts a holiday. 
You cannot tell the work I do, 
When I lie dreaming beneath the blue ; 
Or how these fancies dim and strange, 
May amalgamate and change, 
Or grow like seeds in aftertime, 
To something better than my rhyme. 



A WELCOME TO PEACE. 199 

A WELCOME TO PEA.CE. 

(Music by F. Moei.) 

I. 

Join, nations, join your hands, 
Through all your happy lands, — 
And let the church-bells ring, 
And youths and maidens sing : 
The seraph Peace from Heaven descends 
To bid mankind be friends,— 
Lo ! she comes ! 
Beat the drums, 
And let the banners wave o'er land and sea ! 
And harmless cannon roar 
From furthest shore to shore,— 
That Strife and all its brood have ceased to be ! 
Join your hands, 
All ye lands, 
And welcome Peace ! the beautiful ! the free ! 



200 UNDER GKEEN LEAVES. 

II. 

No longer may the car 
Of blind, infuriate War, 
Drive o'er the bleeding Earth, 
To quench its children's mirth, 
And scatter Vengeance and Dismay, — 
But Peace, like flowery May, 
Spread around, 
O'er the ground, 
The seeds of Joy, to blossom like a tree : 
The fruits of Plenty's horn, — 
The oil, the wine, the corn ; 
And nobler blessings destined yet to be ; — 
Join your hands, 
All ye lands, 
And welcome Peace ! the beautiful ! the free ! 



PEXDHAGON THE KIXG. 201 



PENDRAGON THE KING. 



Of all the bold Britons Pendragon was lord, 
His joy was in battles, his trust was the sword ; 
"With his spears on the land ; and his ships on the 

main, 
He drove out the Saxon, he routed the Dane, 

Great Pendragon the Kino* [ 
Said the Britons, "We'll ne'er see a monarch again, 

Like Pendragon the King ! " 

II. 

The plague, but the pride of his people was he ; 
They fawn'd at his footstool, and thought they were 
free ; 



202 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

If any gainsay'd him, he hung them on high ; 
He tax'd them, and robb'd them, — but who could 
deny 

Great Pendragon the King ? 
His word was the law, — there were none to reply 

To Pendragon the King ! 

in. 

He died, — yet the sun shone as bright as before, 
And kiss'd the rose-tree at the cottagers door : 
Neither smith at the anvil, nor child at its play, 
Nor churl at the plough, was sad-hearted that day, 

For Pendragon the King ! 
He is gone ; let him rest, — why should pleasure 
delay 

For Pendragon the King? 

So runs the big world with the biggest of men : 
We are mighty, no doubt, with the sword or the pen, 



PEXDRAGOX THE KIXG. 203 

But we fall like the leaves when the autumn is cold, 
And sleep in our place in the sheltering mould. 

Like Pendra^on the Kins ! 
And the day follows night just the same as of old. 

And the summer, the spring. 



— *=%mm*z 



204 U1S T DER GREEN LEAVES. 



THE RETURN HOME. 



The favouring wind pipes aloft in the shrouds. 
And our keel flies as fast as the shadow of clouds ; 
The land is in sight, on the verge of the sky, 
And the ripple of waters flows pleasantly by, — 

And faintly stealing, 

Booming, pealing, 
Chime from the city the echoing bells ; 

And louder, clearer, 

Softer, nearer, 
Ringing sweefc welcome the melody swells ; 
And it's home ! and it's home ! all our sorrows are 

pass'd, — 
We are home in the land of our fathers at last. 



THE RETURN HOME. 205 



II. 



How oft with a pleasure akin to a pain, 

In fancy we roam'd through thy pathways again, 
Through the mead, through the lane, through the 

grove, through the corn, 
And heard the lark singing its hymn to the morn ; 

And 5 mid the wild wood, 

Dear to childhood, 
Gather'd the berries that grew by the way ; 

But all our gladness 

Died in sadness, 
Fading like dreams in the dawning of clay ;— 
But we're home ! we are home ! all our sorrows are 

pass'd, — - 
"We are home in the land of our fathers at last. 

in. 

"We loved thee before, but well cherish thee now 
"With a deeper emotion than words can avow ; 



206 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Wherever in absence our feet might delay, 
We had never a joy like the joy of to-day; 

And home returning, 

Fondly yearning, 
Faces of welcome seem crowding the shore, — 

England ! England ! 

Beautiful England ! 
Peace be around thee, and joy evermore ! 
And it's home ! and it's home ! all our sorrows are 

pass'd, — 
We are home in the land of our fathers at last. 



— <oC\5X£>>t>— 



TIME AND THE SPRING. 207 



TIME AND THE SPRING. 



" Oh ! spare my tender flowers : 

My lilies born of light, 
My snowy apple-blooms, 

My roses, red and white. — ■ 
Oh ! spare them every one ! " 

Said Spring the young and fair, 
To Time, whose hand had strewn, 

Her blossoms in the air : 
rf Why should they perish 

That fill the world with joy? 
Be kind, oh Time, and spare them,- 

'Tis cruel to destroy ! " 



208 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

II. 

" Oil ! foolish maid ! " said Time, 

" Renounce the idle suit ; — 
To grant it would deprive 

The Autumn of its fruit. 
Be thankful for the gifts 

That bounteous Heaven bestows; 
Enjoy them while they last, 

Nor mourn the fading rose. 
The world would weary 

Did night not follow day ; 
And Spring herself would perish 

If every month were May." 



MAXXA. 



209 



MAXXA. 



To nourish wandering Israel 
In peril, hardship, and distress, 
For forty years the manna fell, 
A wonder in the wilderness ; 
Each morn, from fruitful skies above, 
The bounty on the earth was pour'd ; 
And daily proofs of Heavenly love 
Proclaim'd the goodness of the Lord. 

II. 

And in our years of later time, 
Shall we believe that nevermore 
Is open'd up the fount sublime, 
Which flow'd with miracles of yore I 
p 



210 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Blind are the eyes that cannot see — 
Dead is the heart that knows not well — 
In every boon a mystery, 
In every gift a miracle. 

in. 

For ns the plenteous clouds distil 
The nursing dew, the fruitful rain, 
That swells the vintage of the hill, 
Or feeds the corn-fields of the plain ; 
For us the skies pour fatness down ; 
For us, beyond our power of thought, 
Unutter'd unperceived, unknown, 
A daily miracle is wrought. 

IV. 

For us a world with blessings rife 
Supplies the constant boons of Heaven ; 
Health, Reason, Love, Hope, Joy, and Life, 
Are wonders wrought — are Manna given. 



MAXXA. 211 

Lord ! ope our hearts that we may feel, 
Unbind our eves that we may see, 
The wondrous love Thy works reveal— 
And that we perish but for Thee. 



o^o«- 



p 2 



212 UKDEH GREEN LEAVES. 



THE LAST QUAEEEL. 



The last time that we quarrell'd, love, 

Ifc was an April day, 
And through the gushing of the rain, 
That beat against the window-pane, 

We saw the sunbeams play. 
The linnet never ceased its song, 

Merry it seem'd, and free ; — 
" Your eyes have long since made it up, 

And why not lips ? " quoth he — 
You thought ; — I thought ; — and so 'twas done— 

Under the greenwood tree. 



THE LAST QUARREL. 213 

II. 

The next time that we quarrel, love, 

Far distant be the day, 
Of chiding look or angry word ! 
We'll not forget the little bird 

That sang upon the spray. 
Amid your tears, as bright as rain 

When Heaven's fair bow extends, 
Your eyes shall mark where love begins, 

And cold estrangement ends ; — 
You'll think j — I'll think ; — and as of old, 

Youll kiss me. and be friends. 



21 i UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



FLOWERS m THE STREAM. 



What flowerets, oh river ! 
Fast flowing for ever, 
I threw on thy bosom 

In youth's early day, 
Oh river ! sad river 

Fast flowing away ! 
Hope blooming brightly, 
Joy springing lightly, 
Love, fair as sunshine, 

And born in its ray, 
Oh river ! sad river, 

I mourn their decay ! 



FLOWERS IX THE STREAM. 215 

II. 

Serenely thou lowest — 
Rejoicing thou goest, 
While / stand lamenting 

The summers of yore — 
Oh river ! sad river ! 

Alone on thy shore 1 
Love unrequited, 
Hopes tli at are blighted, 
Joys long departed 

Thou canst not restore ! — 
Oh river ! dark river I 

They blossom no more ! 



218 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



THE MOCK JEWELS. 



The Pedlar stood in the morning light, 

Fluent of speech and smooth was he, 
And spread his wares in the public sight ;- 

Maranatha ! and woe is me ! 
And he call'd to the people, surging along, 
Like rolling billows when seas are strong, — 

There came a dark cloud over the sky, 
"Here are gauds for all to wear, 
For men, for youths, for maidens fair ; — 

The time is passing, come and buy!" 
Oh! the Pedlar! 
The knavish Pedlar ! 



THE MOCK JEWELS. 217 

The Fiend in Pedlars guise was lie! 

Selling and buying, 

Cheating and lying ; 
Maranatha ! and woe is me I 



ii. 

" Here's a Trinket ! here's a gem ! 

The Queen hath nothing more fair to see, 
'Mid the sparkle and glow of her diadem \ n 

2Iaranatha ! and woe is me ! 
" Buy it, and wear it, maiden fine, 
Cheap lore — bright love — love divine !" 

There came a dark cloud over the shy ! 
The maiden bought it, and thought no sin ; 
But she found a broken heart within, 

And the Pedlar cried, "'Come buy! come buy!" 
Oh ! the Pedlar ! 
The knavish Pedlar ! 



218 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

The Fiend in human guise was he ! 
Selling and buying, 
Cheating and lying : 

Maranatha I and woe is me ! 



in. 



" Here's a gaud for the young and bold — 

Made for the generous and the free, 
Redder than ruby, richer than gold !" 

Maranatha ! and woe is me ! 
" Its name is Glory ! " — A youth drew near, 
And bought the jewel, nor thought it dear; 

There came a dark cloud over the sky ! 
For ere he'd placed it on his breast, 
He found he'd lost his Joy and Rest, 

And barter'd life for a glittering lie ! 
Oh ! the Pedlar ! 
The knavish Pedlar ! 



THE MOCK JEWELS. 219 

The fiend in a Pedlar's guise was he, 

Selling and buying, 

Cheating and lying : 
Maranatha ! and woe is me! 



IV. 

" Here's a jewel without a flaw ! 

Brighter and better none can be \ 
Win it and wear it, and give the law.*' — 

Maranatha I and woe is me ! 
" And its name is Riches ! " With, roar and shout 
The people jostled and swarm'd about; 

There came a dark cloud over the shj : 
They bought the gem of worldly wealth, 
And paid their Conscience and their Health- — 

"While the Pedlar cried u Come buy ! come buy !" 
Oh ! the Pedlar ! 
The knavish Pedlar ! 



220 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

The Fiend in a Pedlar's guise was lie I 
Selling and buying, 
Cheating and lying : 

Maranaiha ! and vjoe is me ! 



v. 



In churchyards lone, in the wintry night, 

The ghastly Pedlar — dim to see, 
Takes his stand on the gravestones white : 

Maranatha ! and woe is me ! 
And summons the ghosts from sod and tomb, 
And chuckles and grins in the midnight gloom ; 

Dark are the clouds upon the shy ; 
And sells them again his shadowy wares, 
Loves, Fames, Riches, and Despairs, — - 

" Jewels — -jewels — come and buy ! " 

Oh ! the Pedlar ! « 

The mocking Pedlar ! 



THE MOCK JEWELS. 221 



The Devil in Pedlar's guise is lie 
Selling and buying, 
Cheating and lying : 

Maranatha ! and woe is me I 



o^o 



222 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



GOOD NIGHT. 



Good night I good night I 

The chimes ring loud and clear ; 
Good night ! good night ! 

A new-horn day is near. 
Our mirth has rung, weVe danced and sung, 

Our eyes have gleamed delight ; 
The day has pass T d, we part at last ; 

To each and all, Good night ! 

n. 

Sleep I gentle sleep I 

Thy robe o'er nature lies ; 
Sleep ! gentle sleep I 

Steal softly on our eyes. 



GOOD NIGHT. 223 

And not alone to us be known 

Thy blessings calm and deep ; 
To pain and care be free as air, 

And soothe them, gentle sleep ! 

in. 

Dreams ! happy dreams ! 

That right Life's balance "wrong ; 
Dreams ! nappy dreams ! 

Your kind deceits prolong. 
Give poor men gold, make young the old, 

Show slaves where freedom beams ; 
And shed a light on sorrow's night, 

Ye recompensing dreams 1 

IT. 

Good night ! good night I 

The chimes give warning clear ; 
Good nio-ht ! good night ! 
A new-born day is near. 



224 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Our mirth Las rung, we've danced and sung, 
Our eyes have gleam'd delight ; 

The day has pass'd, we part at last ; 
To each and all, Good night ! 



HATE IX THE PULPIT. 



HATE IN THE PULPIT. 

A thuxderer in the pulpit I — let us hear ! 

He cries with voice of stentor, loud and clear. 

That God desires no music in His praise 

But human voices upon Sabbath-days ; 

That art in churches is a thing abhorr'cl, 

And architecture odious to the Lord ; 

That none, who pray with other forms than he, 

Shall share the blessings of Eternity. 

Down, bigot, down ! too proud and blind to know. 
That God, who fashion'd all things here below. 
Made music and the arts ; that organ-tones 
Are His creation ; that the starry zones 
And pomp of the cathedral, both alike 
"Were form'd by Him. Men's hands can delve or 
strike, 

Q 



22 6 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

And build or overthrow ; but all their power 
Is God's alone. Poor creature of an hour, 
Be humble and confess how small art thou ! 
Wouldst carry all God's wisdom on thy brow? 
And in the limits of thy sect confine, 
The infinite mercy of His Love divine ? 

Hate in the pulpit ! — Down, intruder, down ! 
The place is holy, and thine angry frown 
Sheds visible darkness on the listening throng. 
Down, bigot, down ! thy heart is in the wrong ! 
Thou art not pure ; — within this place should dwell 
Humility, and Love ineffable, 
Self-abnegation and the tranquil mind ; 
And heavenly Charity, enduring, kind ; 
Patience and Hope, and words of gentleness ! 
Down to thy closet — not to curse, but bless ; 
And learn the law — the sum of all the ten — 
That love of God includes the love of men. 



" LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY." 227 



LOYE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY." 

i. 

Oyer the mountains 

If Love cannot leap, 
Down through the valleys 

Unheeded he'll creep. 
Whatever his purpose, 

He'll do it or die ; 
And hardships and dangers 

Confess it and fly. 

ii. 

Poor as a beggar, 

Yet rich as a king ; 
Stormy as winter, 

And radiant as spring ; 
Q 2 



228 UNDER GSEEN LEAVES. 

He's constant, he's changeful, 
He's night, and he's day ; 

A guide who misleads us, 
Yet shows us the way. 



in. 



Drown him in billows 

Deep, deep in the main, 
Light as the sea-bird 

He'll float up again. 
You think he has perish'd 

In sleet and in showers, 
He rises in sunlight, 

And treads over flowers. 

IV. 

Lock him in darkness, 
In grief, and in thralls, 

Laughing to scorn you, 

He'll glide through the walls. 



Go chain up a sunbeam, 
Or cage the wild wave; — 

Then bind him with fetters, 
And make him a slave ! 

v. 

Call him not haughty — 

He dwells with the poor : 
Call him not feeble — ■ 

He's strong to endure ; 
And call him not foolish — 

He governs the wise ; 
jSTor little— he's greater 

Than earth and the skies. 



•-oCa £}XPX>o~ 



230 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



THE GREAT CRITICS. 

Whom shall we praise ? 

Let's praise the dead ! — 
In no men's ways 
Their heads they raise, 

Nor strive for bread 
With you or me, — 
So, do you see? 

We'll praise the dead ! 
Let living men 

Dare but to claim 
From tongue or pen 

Their meed of fame, 



THE GREAT CRITICS. 231 

We'll cry them down, 
Spoil their renown, 
Deny their sense, 
Wit, eloquence, 
Poetic fire, 
All they desire. 
Our say is said. 
Lono- live the dead ! 



232 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



THE SHIP 

T. 

A King, a Pope, and a Kaiser, 

And a Queen — most fair was she- 
"Went sailing, sailing, sailing, 

Over a sunny sea. 
And amid them sat a beggar, — 

A ehmi of low degree ; 
And the j all went sailing, sailing, 

Over the sunny sea. 

II. 

And the King said to the Kaiser, 
And his comrades fair and free 

" Let us turn adrift this beggar, 
This churl of low degree ; 



THE SHIP. 233 

For he taints the balmy odours 

That blow to you and me, 
As we travel, — sailing, sailing, 

Over the sunny sea." 

in. 

" The ship is mine," said the beggar, — 

That churl of low degree ; — 
u And we're all of us sailing, sailing, 

To the grave, o'er the sunny sea. 
And you may not, and you cannot, 

Get rid of mine, or me ; 
No ! not for your crowns and sceptres— 

And my name is Death ! " quoth he. 



234 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 



THOR'S HAMMER. 



[The dramatis persona of the following fable are well-known 
personages in the Scandinavian mythology. Thor is the son of 
Odin ; his Hammer has the same virtues, and the same faculties, 
as the Sword of Justice in other mythologies ; Loki is the spirit 
of evil, and contemner of the gods ; and Friga, mother of Thor, 
is the goddess of Peace.] 



Once on a time, — three thousand years ago, — 
Thor left the mountains where the rivers grow, 
And took a journey to the world below. 

Clad as a blacksmith, in his hand he bore 

The avenging Hammer, forged in Heaven of yore, 

And sought, far off, a city on the shore. 



THOIl's HAMMER. 235 

[None knew the god : he walk'd 'mid human kind 
Manlike, and stalwart as a labouring hind, 
Broad-brow'd and thoughtful, and of quiet mind. 

He look'd about him, pondering as he went 
Through mart and haven, what the people meant, 
With their pale faces, and their shoulders bent : 

And what possess'd them. Lo ! from every sea 
Came in the hurrying ships, with white sails free, 
Spread to the breeze, that fill'd them joyously. 

He saw the bursting sacks of plenteous corn, 
The silk and wool, and all the tribute borne 
North ward, from climes beyond the fruitful morn : 

Damasks and velvets, trimm'd with sable hems, 
The gold, the silver, and the starlike gems, 
For fair maids' bosoms, and kings' diadems. 



236 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

The glowing art, the sulpture half-divine, 
The oils, the spice, the fruits incarnadine, 
The reeling hogsheads, lumbersome with wine. 

And all the people pray'd and wrought for gold ; 
The few lived sumptuously, and free, and bold, 
The many toil'd in hunger and in cold : 

But all sought riches ; man, and maid, and wife ; 
Labour's reward, the victory after strife ; 
Riches, dear riches, aim and end of life. 

Great Thor was dazzled ; and he sat him down 

Amid the teeming people of the town, 

And doff'd his sheepskin coat and jerkin brown, 

And robed himself in purple like the rest, 
Hiding his mighty Hammer in his breast, 
And look'd a king, in all his form and gest. 



THORS HAMMER. L'o 

II. 

Him Loki follow'd 3 stealthily and slow, 
Loki the jesting, and incredulous foe, 
That knew all evil, or aspired to know. 

And when the god had praiikt himself in state, 
Loki did likewise, and with step elate, 
Moved to his side and made obeisance great. 

" Lord ! n he exclaim" d, " if in this happy land 

Thou art a stranger, as I understand, 

Let me be near thee at thy bold right hand ; 

" And I will show thee what the country yields, 
Better than clang of swords, and dint of shields ;- 
The wealth of Industry, and smiling fields. 

" Is it not good that hungry War should cease, 
The household virtues bloom and wealth increase, 
And the world prosper in the light of peace ? 



238 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

" Come ! let me show thee how this people thrive, 
And how they live and toil, and feast and wive — 
These busy workers in the human hive. 

" Come to the palace I have built and stored ; 
Thou shalt be welcome to a kingly board, 
And for thy pleasure shall the wine be pour'd. 

" To give thee joy shall Beauty deck her bowers, 
And twine her flowing locks with summer flowers, 
And dart live sunshine through thy heart in showers. 

" Thou shalt behold more wonder and delight 
Than great Walhalla holds, on festal night, 
When heroes drink and gods renew the fight." 

And Thor went with him. On his path were strewn 
Roses and lilies. Loud, in joyous tune, 
Sounded the fife, the shalm, and the bassoon. 



thor's hammer. 239 

On Beauty's bosom, as it heaved in sighs, 
Sparkled the jewels; sparkled loving eyes; 
Sparkled the wine-cup ; surged the revelries. 

The god rejoiced ; he quaff 'd the amber wine, 
And mortal beauty, to his raptured eyne, 
Glow'd with a splendour equal to divine. 

He laugh' d and sang ; and roystering revel kept,— 
Through his hot veins a drowsy pleasure crept, 
And in the lap of luxury he slept. 

Prone on the couch his brawny limbs he threw, — - 

Loki beheld — the scoffer — the untrue, — 

And from his slumbering breast the Hammer drew, 

He stole and vanish'd. Senseless as a stone 
Slept mighty Thor, until the morning shone, 
And wdien he waken' d — lo ! he was alone. 



240 UNDER GREEN" LEAVES. 

III. 

From Heaven's blue vault there dropp'd a murmur 

low, 
From Hecla's summit crown'd with Polar ^snow, 
Came the shrill echoes of a voice of woe. 

The big rains patter'd it in bubbling drops, 

The wild wind breathed it through the trembling copse 

The thunder spake it to the mountain-tops ; 

The deep sea moan'd it to the startled shore, — 
" Eternal Justice rules the world no more, 
Lost is the Hammer of avenging Thor." 

Good men received the tidings, and were sad ; 

The wicked heard, and reel'd about as mad. 

" Ours is the world ! " they said, " Rejoice — be glad ! 

" Ours is the world, to use it as we will ; 
'Tis ours, to bind or loose — to spare or kill ; 
Let us enjoy it : let us. take our fill. 



THOR ? S HAMMER. 241 

" Thor hatli no Hammer ; nerveless is his hand 
To deal red vengeance o'er the joyous land, 
And scatter nations-, as the storms the sand. 

" Rejoice, ye peoples ! let the song go round. — 
Kings are we all \ bring wreaths that we be crown'd. 
And where we tread, bestrew with flowers the 

ground." 

Freed from the fear of Heaven's avenging wrath, 

Men planted vices in the open path : 

The harvest, vice ; and crime the aftermath. 

Fast grew, fast spread, the poisonous lust of gold ; 
Youth's love — as in the happy days of old — 
\Yas given no longer. — but was bought and sold, 

The young were greedy, calculating, base ; 
The greedier old thought nothing a disgrace 
But want of money, or the loss of place. 

Pw 



242 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

To sin and prosper made the world a friend ■ 
To lie was venial, — if it served an end ; 
'Twas wise to cringe ; 'twas politic to bend. 

To steal for pence was dastardly and mean ; 
To rob for millions, with a soul serene, 
Soil'd not the fiugers, — all success was clean. 

Each needy villain haggled for his price ; 

The base Self-worship spawn d with every vice, — 

Its love was lust, its prudence avarice ; 

Its courage cruelty ; its auger hate ; 

Its caution lies ; — the little and the great 

Denied the gods, and dared the blows of Fate. 

The Heavens grew dark with anger : — " Thor, awake ! 
YVnere is thy Hammer? Shall the gods not take 
Vengeance for evil ? Shall their thirst not slake ? 1 



thor's hammer, 243 

" Where is thy Hammer, forged in Heaven of yore — 
The earth is foul and rotten to the core — 
Where is thy Hammer, — thou avenging Thor % " 

IV. 

Through the deep midnight pierced the awful word — 
" Bring back thy Hammer." Earth and Heaven were 

stirr'd, 
And Hell's remotest depths the echoes heard. 

And miserable Thor, distraught, forlorn, 

Boam'd o'er the world, and held himself in scorn, 

To be so foil'd by Loki, evil-born. 

His quivering lips with proud impatience curl'd, 
On Loki's head his bitterest curse he hurl'd, 
P]ague of the gods, and tyrant of the world. 

" Hast thou my Hammer, Earth, or thou, oh Heaven % " 
Earth spake not, nor the spheres, 'mid all their seven ; 
But from the wild sea-waves was answer given :— 

r 2 



244 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

" Thine awful Hammer slumbers in my breast ; 
Seek it, oh Thor ! and happy be thy quest, 
And free the world from rapine and unrest ! " 

And Thor took ship, and sail'd the stormy sea : — 
" Courage and Hope, my comrades twain shall be, 
Where'er ye waft me, oh ye wild winds free ! 

" Farewell, farewell ! to all delights of yore, 
To gods and heroes, and the Asgard shore, — 
Without my Hammer I return no more ! 

" In storm, or calm, or in the treacherous mist, 
The waves shall bear, and float me as they list, 
And pitying Heaven shall watch me and assist !" 

Northward, three days, 'mid sleet and driving rain, 
The vessel sped ; and north three days again 
It sail'd in starlight, o'er a trackless main. 



thor's hammer. 245 

Northward, still north, three days and nights it flew, 
And the shrill winds that o'er its topsails blew, 
Froze into sheets of ice the heavy dew. 

North — ever north ! The breeze forgot to blow, 
And hush'd its music in the whispering snow ; 
But still the vessel cleft the waves below. 

North — ever north ! Flapp'd out the bellying sail, 

'Mid rolling icebergs and a fitful gale, 

And storms of cutting sleet and rattling hail. 

O'er Heaven's dark vault the darting meteors pour'd, 
Like hosts in conflict — hurrying horde on horde j — 
And the ice crack' d, and sudden thunders roar'd. 

But Thor held on, undaunted as of old, 

Through storm, and fog, and sleet, and pitiless cold, 

As the ship bore him, by the gods controll'd. 



246 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

Northward no more! With sudden swirl and spin, 

And clash like booming of artillery's din, 

The icebergs fell and broke, and hemm'd him in, 

He heard a sound of laughter and of shrieks, 

And saw a shadow on the frozen peaks, 

That brought the warm blood to his angry cheeks. 

" I know thee, Loki ; but the hour draws near 
When thou shalt look upon my face ; and fear ; — 
After thy night, my morning heavenly clear." 

And as he spake, there flash'd a crimson glow, 
Amid the pinnacles, through berg and floe, 
And cover'd all the ship from poop to prow. 

And o'er the ice came tripping like a fawn, 
In the clear sunlight of a rosy dawn, 
When the dews glisten on the grassy lawn, 



tiior's hammer. 247 

The fair-hair'd Friga, peaceful and benign, — 
Her soft blue eyes stream'd forth a joy divine, 
And rainbows clad her in celestial shine. 

" Beneath thy keel," she said, " thy Hammer sleeps ; 
Plunge thou, and seize it, in the deepest deeps, 
Where Loki cast it ; Heaven expects and weeps." 

Quick as a thought, upon the floe he sprang ; 

The ice divided with an iron clang, 

And clown he plunged, while Loki's laughter rang. 

Up from the wild wave, radiant as the day, 

Issued the god, and shook the icy spray 
From his broad shoulders, glancing in the ray, 

And held aloft the Hammer in both hands :— 
" Rejoice, ye nations, and be glad, ye lands, 
The throne of Justice on the hill-top stands : 



248 UNDER GREEN LEAVES. 

"And Thor's great Hammer vindicates the Right ! w 

Loki fled howling, while in roseate light 

The ship sail'd homeward through the gloomy night. 

And Heavenly voices flew from shore to shore ; 
" Tremble ye wicked ! Earth is yours no more ; — 
Found is the Hammer of avenging Thor ! " 



PRINTED BY COX (BROS,) AND WYMAN, GREAT QUEEN STREET. 



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